


Princess of Persia

by Veronica_Lake



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Doctor Clarke, F/F, Syrian Civil War, women's protection units (ypj)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-04 13:04:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14593635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veronica_Lake/pseuds/Veronica_Lake
Summary: "Listen to me Lexa, if you go to Syria, you are going to die.""You don't understand Gustus.  I've died the day she left me. In three weeks I am leaving for Syria, I've got money, I am unhinged, and love of my life is there somewhere. The only question is, will you help me or not?"





	1. Chapter 1

**Saturday, January 30, 2016**

**9:37 pm., Northeastern Syria, not far from Deir ez-Zur**

 

“It´s healing better than expected. There should not be any lasting consequences.”

Even when bringing the positive news, your words sound cold. There is no sign of assurance, nor encouragement. It’s nothing more than a dry statement. When the young U.S. marine pilot was brought to the elementary school building, now serving as a temporary medical compound couple of days ago, it didn't look good. Two gunshot wounds, the thigh and abdomen.  Any of it could be lethal, but the bullets simply passed through the body doing nothing else than superficial damage without hitting any internal organ. The primary concern for the moment was the possible infection. The shortage of medical supplies has been an everyday issue, but it seems keeping LTJG Octavia Blake alive was a top priority for the compound leader and your so-called boss Charles Pike. It might look this girl was incredibly lucky. Not even she survived shooting down her F/A-18 Hornet and escaped ISIS fighters chasing her, she was found and rescued by one of the Independent medical front doctors. You knew the luck was the last thing involved, but couldn’t tell her. Besides, she was smart enough to figure it out by herself really quickly, you have to give her all credit.

“Yeah. Really awesome. I will be fully healed to become someone’s slave. You have my eternal thanks. Now fuck off.”

You do not doubt that being a soldier requires a lot of qualities. Perception and vigilance definitely are those Octavia Blake possesses. It did not take much time to grasp, that maybe quick death would be a preferable option for her. You can tell how much she despises you for what are you doing. Saving her life so she could become a commodity. She would definitely rather turn away, but harnesses allow only a limited range of movement. So she closes her eyes and pretends to fall asleep. Unfortunately, there is no other option for her right now. When you met Dr Charles Pike for the first time, you were a freshman. It was your second semester at Humboldt University in Berlin. You were still so enthusiastic about becoming the doctor. So naive. At the time, he was a great teacher, kind person and for many an outstanding mentor. You knew, that he had served as a doctor with American military forces in Iraq war, but still you were a bit surprised when he approached you after the studies with an offer to join Independent medical front to help those in need suffering from the civil war in Syria. You only hesitated for a moment before accepted.  It should be a new impulse a purpose your life was missing painfully. You did not fool yourself that it will be an easy path but believed it was what you wanted. Well, now you know stupid decisions are still decisions, and you have to deal with consequences. Especially with Pike. The delusional Idealist. His mind was poisoned by hatred, and now he's heading for impossible goals, throwing away ethics, allied with Syrian Rebels he has become unhinged. But according to his words, he only stood up where his country failed in the fight for democracy against the oppressive Syrian government. Syria has been an utter mess even for experienced political analyst or internal affairs experts. You are just a doctor who came here to help civilians. Innocents. Yet, you've gotten yourself into something completely different. Maybe you should left when Pike revealed his true allegiance when it was clear that the medical unit you joined went rogue, but in the end, you didn't. Not that it would be simple, anyway. Female doctor who is known as Rebel´s acquaintance. German passport and official Independent medical front ID could hardly be any help for you before you would be able to reach the Turkey borders. So you stayed. You don't try to figure out why you made those masochistic choices anymore because one way or another it all comes back to her. To the woman, you loved more than anything. And hated. Blamed for everything. Because it was more comfortable than to face your own demons. Unconsciously you reach for the shirt pocket but stop before you can grab the photo. There is no need to look at it anyway. Closing your eyes, you can recall every detail. Outdated detail, for that matter. She must be a different person by now. You definitely are.

“Fuck it!”

You mutter. It's beyond you why you still have that stupid photo, why you took it with you in the first place. She would never approve of you coming to Syria, to put your life in danger. Well, maybe if she stuck around, none of this would happen, you think. But it did. She left, and it is what it is. You agreed to stay and treat Rebel's wounded. Under one condition, that you will be able to help the civilians too. In false belief, you will eventually succumb to his charisma and idealism and fully join Rebels cause, Charles Pike accepted your offer. Still, you know you are on borrowed time. There is no doubt he will see through you eventually and figure out that you stealing medical supplies, lying to him, helping locals behind his back. That it does not and never will matter to you if the member of the Syrian Army, Syrian rebels or a monster from ISIS takes the gun and kills innocents for whatever higher cause. They are all same murderers in your eyes.

You peek towards the two Rebel soldiers watching the main door, sipping the coffee you've made for them and make a couple of steps ahead to the second prominent patient of yours, Indra. A part of another side of this conflict. It was not a coincidence Pike decided to save her life as well. She is undoubtedly a high ranking commander of Kurdish Women's Protection Units. You check on Indra and slowly squeeze her shoulder twice to let her know the plan was set in motion. You've already released her harnesses before, then took your satchel full of stolen medical supplies. It’s not much the young doctor could do alone in the middle of the civil war, you’ve realised that the hard way. But now you know, there is at least something. It feels oddly satisfying and disturbing at the same time, to think about how SHE would do the same. She would do anything to free these two women. And you will do too.

When Pike, the reputable former army doctor decided to join this madness, maybe his goal to fight against Assad's Tyranny and join Rebels forces was based on good intentions. But now when Rebels are losing, seeking the way out and Syrian Army and ISIS closing the city ready to clash for dominance, he is about to do anything to save himself. Selling the American pilot and Kurdish commander to ISIS will bring him not only the safe passage but even the supplies for Rebels. As delusional as he has become he wanted to believe that. For what it was worth you are sure ISIS will not let him go. But couldn't care less. The fate of the two women is more of your concern. They are not innocent. You are not silly to think that. You can tell Indra has blood on her hands just by looking at her. And she knows you know. But you want to believe she didn't have a choice when took a gun at a young age and defended what was dearest to her. Her people. The pilot though, there is a whole different story. You are not sure if she ever thought about killing when she joined the army. Maybe you are wrong, but these women are not bloodthirsty warmongers. You cannot let Pike sell them. In the worst case they will be tortured and enslaved, in the best case ISIS will only execute them in a live stream, cut their heads probably or something exemplary to show what will become to those who do not believe in their God. American soldier, Octavia defies you for working with Pike. She would never believe your offer is genuine. On the other hand experienced Kurdish commander knew better than that and even when reluctant initially, she accepted the strange alliance, eventually. Passing through the main hall, you feel content seeing the sleeping cocktail you made is very effective. Both guards ended on the couch unconscious. You expected to be more jittery, but your hands are surprisingly steady when you reach for one's knife. You hope Indra will be able to convince LTJG Blake your only way out of this mess is together. They created weird bond being held here as captives. Moving quickly towards Pike's provisional office you know one last thing remains to be settled. You open the door and head to the office table. Maybe it's adrenaline, maybe the image of the woman on the picture in your pocket that's haunting you all day, but your movements are quick and steady. Funny. Sometimes you forget about her, about the pic in the pocket for days. But today she is all in your head. Thanks to the knife the drawer is force opened in no time and the small briefcase finally in your possession. It’s leverage. Intel on Rebels and ISIS, even Kurds. Anything can happen out there. So This old briefcase could be the difference between life and death. With another item you picked, the grenade, it’s a bit different. Still leverage but for more complicated circumstances. Those when death is preferable option ahead of living. You put both into the satchel ready to be as far away from this place as it gots. The moment you leave the office you know something is off. You fasten your pace and head towards the exit. Shortly before you reach the doors a steady hand on your arm spoils your plans. You don't have to turn around to know who is tightening the grip.

“Going somewhere, Dr Griffin?”

There are at least two men with him, you can tell according to the shadows.

“I might. I admit, my plans could change slightly now. So it seems you are going to join me after all.”

Standing behind you, he cannot see you reach for the grenade. You embrace it with such intensity your fingers slowly becoming white. This is it. The final moment of your life. You should hate her. But you know it's not her fault. Yes, she left you... Or maybe you left her. In the end, it doesn't matter because you made all those crappy decisions that brought you here. And you are going to pay for them.

“I believed in you, Clarke. You could be the part of something good. Greater than you.”

“Like mixing chlorine and sarin for bombs against civilians. Thank you, but no thank you.”

You sneer. He swore to help people, and this is his way how to do it. It’s funny how he mentioned being part of something good because from all the emotions you could feel right now, you feel relief. You are more than sure that you are going to do something good by taking him with you.

“Assad has to be stopped. Great goals require difficult choices and lot of collateral damage. Only a few are brave enough to make those hard decisions.”

“Well, Dr Pike. Charles. I think I finally know what it means.”

You turn around with a broad smile and show him what's in your left hand. The grenade without safety pin hit the floor, and the expression on his face is something you cannot enjoy enough.

How long could 5 seconds last? You've never wondered about that. Till now. Till you wait for death to come. Except you are not going to die. It’s a bit unclear when this realisation hit you. The moment when the main door is kicked, or the consecutive one, when the masked figure in heavy body armour and helmet drags you out. Last second before the explosion, you are pushed down to the ground and feel the tight embrace, firm hands laid on your ears, when your saviour covers you and minimise the impact of the blast. Everything is fuzzy but there is no doubt you live. Another person appears. Young woman in a light military gear and AK-47. It’s not like you are an expert on weapons but those things are kind of widespread in here.  You only catch a glimpse of her, because of the other one, your personal anti-blast protection is still firmly pressed on you. She has come to help, it’s for sure. Even when not quite familiar with the Kurdish language, her words addressed to the heavy armour person are soft and caring. To your own surprise, once when you and masked warrior are separated, you’d prefer to be closer again. Suddenly, you want to turn around and face this mysterious figure, but someone else is seeking for your attention.

“Come! We have to move quickly.”

Change of the attitude is imminent when the AK-47 girl talks to you, and it's definitely not because of her rusty English. In no time you are back on your feet with her not very subtle help. In the dim light of the emerging fires you can fully see the dusty face with the long dark hair covered by scarf for the first time, and suddenly you feel genuinely really sorry for her. Costia. That's what the nametag on her uniform says.   She is so young and beautiful. She should be drinking lattés, and chit chat about silly things like bags and shoes with her girlfriends, not carrying AK-47. How more screwed up this country could be? You have no idea yet, but you are about to find out very soon.

“Wait!” But first, you need to know what are you dealing with now.

“Are you with Women's protection unit? Have you come for Indra? I released her before Pike showed up. She must be near. So does another prisoner. LTJG Blake.”

“We have to go. And you have to believe me. Everything is going to be alright.”

You want answers. You need to know that all the effort to save those two prisoners wasn't in vain. That what you have done in last few weeks in this God damned place actually means something. Something good. Not fucking Charles Pike-like good but healing those who he calls collateral damage, showing LTJG Blake that she doesn't have to be a soldier, a killer to prove herself worthy to her father or bringing commander Indra back to her family, to her people.

You desperately need something to hold on to. Not in the thousands of years, you would expect it will be the soothing voice largely contrasting with the heavy armoured stony exterior who leans towards. It’s like a charm. Supported with a hand in gloves on your shoulder followed by a tender squeeze. You cannot resist the outspoken request. First time in weeks you believe everything is going to be ok again if this woman will stick around. A woman. Of course, she is. Deep down you knew before you heard her voice. So oddly familiar. Perfect English. Queen royal accent. But it cannot be, can't it? Your mind must be playing tricks with you. You are still shaken from the explosion. Right? It doesn't matter. When the tears start coming down to your face the undeniable feeling that someone finally have your back after very long time overcomes you. You don't have to be strong for the shortest moment. You know this because the hand of your protector is still gently laid on your shoulder when the three of you are rushing down the ruined street. This moment of yours, a moment of weakness will not last long. You know that. It must not. Two minutes. Maybe five. Anyway, you are going to make the most of it. That’s why you put your arm around warrior's hips. She doesn't mind at all and allows you to lean on her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never been in Syria. I've never served in Army. I respect every religious belief. This is a love story. Nothing more. Some settings were inspired by real places and events. Nevertheless, everything is purely fictional.
> 
> Anyway, I am always open to suggestion (about Army service, about Syria about anything that could make this story better…)
> 
> Trivia:  
> Civil War in Syria has started in 2011 and is being fought by several factions  
> a. Syrian government  
> b. Syrian opposition  
> c. The Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant (ISIL, ISIS or Daesh), it’s not a state really, but the Salafi jihadist militant group and it’s operating outside Syria too  
> d. Rojava also know as Syrian democratic forces (Kurds mostly but not exclusively), -Rojava is northern part of Syria with some level of autonomy, mostly threatened by ISIS. Clarke allies with its female brigade, Women’s protection unit
> 
> There are also outside supporters not directly involved in land-based operations.  
> (Russia since 2015 allied with Syrian government and US and NATO since 2014 fighting against ISIS and against Syrian government since 2018)
> 
> Also, as far as I know, there is no organization called Independent medical front. I created it for the story.


	2. Chapter 2

**Saturday, January 30, 2016**

**11:44 pm., Northeastern Syria**

 

You sit on the back seat of Pike's Ford Ranger now in possession of your new companions. He will not need it any longer anyway. But that’s not why you feel slightly optimistic, a bit safer and entirely different than how you felt in a last couple of weeks. Your guardian is still by your side, her arm around your shoulder. The heavy bulletproof vest can offer various kind of protection, but it can't stop you from hearing the heartbeat when your head rests on her chest. You haven't seen her face you don't know her name, but still, you feel so close to her. It could be odd, but it's not really. Your brain is working hard to create an excuse why you simply need this. It's only logical to succumb. At least for now. You need to feel that someone cares. So what if it's a false consolation. So what if they are helping you only because you helped Indra? You are here with them now. With her. Other members of your little party are the girl with AK-47 politely aimed at LTJG Blake with an intention to dismiss any unadvised ideas. Both are sitting behind you. And in front seats, there are commander Indra with a designated driver. The AK-47 girl called him Gustus. Gigantic was the first word that came to your mind when you met him accompanying your two freed patients a couple of minutes ago. Terrifying was the second. But this quality of his was weakened in your eyes after the little conversation he had with your saviour. You also tried to figure out anything more about her, but you failed. There is no name tag on her west and nothing indicates she would be up for a little chit-chat. No one is, which is not a surprise considering the circumstances. You wanted to give them inside how to avoid the Rebel's city watch, but apparently, Gustus had it all covered when he left Deir ez-Zur behind. So you all sit in silence, till he abandons the road and stops the car behind the cluster of bushes.

“Out.”

Pretty straightforward. From all of the resources, you lack right now time is probably the most precious. Or at least you want to believe that’s why no one cares to share anything about what's going on and where are you heading. Once out of the car you find yourself untouched by the masked warrior again, and again it’s not a pleasant feeling. For better or worse this wholly inappropriate and unexpected emotional state of yearning is banished by the image of a shallow pit with dead bodies revealed when the huge guy removes a big piece of clothing covered by sand right next to the cluster. If not a doctor you would probably react same as LTJG Blake. She cannot hold herself together and release the content of her stomach to the ground. You were right about her. She never saw a dead body before. First, Indra seems a bit shocked about the revelation but then quickly follows Gustus and masked warrior posing five slightly decayed bodies into the Ford Ranger. What's going on, you want to ask but are interrupted.

“Don’t worry, princess. We didn't kill them.” It’s Costia. She still aims her AK-47 on vomiting American soldier. You are not sure if she wants to soothe you or mock you.

“Your dear friend Pike and his goons are responsible.”

Now when she mentions him in the lights of the Ford Ranger headlamps, you catch the burnt skin of one the bodies and are pretty sure it was Sulfur mustard. Whoever used it, Pike made it.

“That monster was not my friend.”

Even when dizziness almost overcomes you, she cannot hurt you, whatever her reasons to do so are.  You may not be proud Kurdish fighter who's protecting her people every day, but you did not participate in any of Pike’s atrocities. The moment you started finding out about what he was doing, you did what you could to minimise an impact of his actions. You helped civilians as much as possible. Indra knows that, and that’s the reason why you are still alive. You do not intend to linger in a conversation or any other interaction with Costia. Instead, you help LTJG Blake back on her feet and give her a bottle of water from your waist bag. You guess an hour ago you were the last person she would want to team up with. Now tables are turned. She is as much confused about the turn of events as you are. Not to mention moment after moment she realises that battlefield looks much different from the cockpit of F 18-Hornet than from the ground.

“So here is the plan.” Gustus waves and even when the numbness still permeates your head, spark of hope is suddenly present again too. The plan. Finally something.

“We are here.” Standing in front of the car he draws the rough map of this area into the sand using a stick.

“We cannot go straight to the north to Rojava territory. N7 road is crawling with ISIS. Most of the settlements around are under their control.” He confirms what you've already known. The rescue party are working with Kurds and going back to safety will not be an easy task.

“We are heading west. We have to reach the checkpoint behind the Deir ez-Zor district borders before 6 am. From here we cannot go with the car. On the road we could encounter Rebel's or worse ISIS, off the road the car could attract even more unwanted attention. Capturing well-known Women's protection unit commander is exactly what would make their day.” You are not sure if he is talking about Indra or masked warrior because they stand next to each other.

“We are going through the wilderness by foot and use Ford Ranger as a distraction. If we are lucky, whoever is going to find it, will come to the conclusion we died in the accident. ” He looks at the GPS device on his arm.

“It's 22k to our other car location. Here.” He draws another x mark near the district border checkpoint one. You can hear LTJG Blake gulp. There is no way her injuries allows her to walk 22k at the quick pace. Hell, at any pace.

“The guards on that Checkpoint are bribed, but they will be replaced at 6am. That's our prime objective. Get there in time. Then, there is the safe house in the nearest city, Madan. Nevertheless, we cannot linger for long. Madan still may be under the Syrian government control, but it can change anytime. Besides they are not allies. They do not see as enemies only because ISIS and Rebels are the major concern for the moment.”

“Oh and Lieutenant Blake. It doesn't make me happy to say this, but I think you've already realised that most of us are not excited to have you here.”

You know the American soldier in the middle of Syria is like a red cloth for a bull. For some, Americans are enemies, unbelievers. For others oppressors and then they are those who see them as betrayers because they did not help to make a stand against Assad or did not come to help in time when the civil war has erupted.

“You are a liability. Everyone, absolutely everyone who we encounter before we reach Rojava territory would gladly slit our throats and capture you for their own more or less sick plans. So I believe you know how to make yourself an asset.” He reaches for one of his pockets, picks another GPS device and gives it to the masked warrior.

“I am going to take care of the car. You better show some hustle in the meantime. We will reunite on settled coordinates not later than in 2 hours.” He adjusts his watch, and so does the warrior. Then he looks like hesitates, but only for a moment before for the second time on this evening he shows his weakness. He hugs her and just confirms your assumption that he cares about her more than a fellow fighter.

“Stay safe, Heda.” He whispers and then leaves with the car to create a decoy.

Heda. Is it her name or title? Should you stop feeling all mushy about her or yes absolutely you should?  Especially with the whole LTJG situation.

“Let's go.” That's all that Heda says and leads you towards the dark wilderness.

The pace is brutal. You were always athletic fit, but it's not easy to stay on the line. Three women next to you exchange a couple of words in Kurdish, but not much. Everyone's focused.  55 minutes. That's how much Octavia Blake can take. She vomits once more and goes down to the sandy ground. You are with her immediately. No way she can stand up and continue.

“Can she keep on?” Octavia's condition is well known to Indra. You don't have to answer the question to reveal the obvious. You don't want to.

“Than merciful death is the best I can offer.” You know she's right. She is fucking damned right, but you cannot just give up. You are a doctor. You don’t offer patients merciful deaths but full-fledged recover. Life.

“No, no, no, no. We cannot leave her behind. I will not allow that. I can’t. There must be something we can do. Makeshift stretcher. Something.” You are a fool if you think your opinion matters. They already showed you a favour when they took you with them.

“We don't have time.” No, you don’t. “If you want to stay here with her and tempt your fate, it's your choice.”

Your choice, of course. You squeeze LTJG Blake hand tightly, and she responds with the same intensity. You feel your eyes stinging, throat dries. Is she ready to die? You are too focused on her that you have not noticed masked warrior has taken one of Costia's duffel bags and is digging in.

“Take these.” She gives you a couple of bandages and you are finally aware she has a plan.

“Tie us together! Left leg to right leg and cores too. Quickly!” Is it a good idea? You know it's not important right now, because it´s hope. You work as fast as you can.

“Costia! Flashlight!” AK-47 girl brings one, and after another command, she is trying to find something in Heda’s west pockets. It’s a syringe kit. You don't need to know about this other part of the plan. Your instructions were clear. Tie them up, so you are doing so. Once your job’s finished, you are asked to inject an unknown substance into the soldier's vein.

You should be delighted when back on the track. You want to be. The masked warrior bears not only her weight but most of Octavia's too. They seem to be doing well keeping the pace, but now you know your saviour is injured. You curse yourself for not seeing it sooner but even if you did what could you do, really? You are on the run. Time is still a huge factor. The explosion didn't leave her unharmed. Her upper back is squashed. Even the body armour has its limits. You still have her blood on your hands, on your clothes. First, when you were tying them, you thought it’s Octavia’s. It’s not.  You fight the urge to stop them immediately and scream at her she must be crazy walk around with such wound. You yearn to demand to be allowed to treat it in no time. There have to be more medical supplies in the duffel bag. You have some of your own. But… After the previous outburst, you are not in the position to demand anything. She didn't ask for your help. She doesn't need your sympathy nor concerns. She wants your compliance, you realise. Suddenly you feel exhausted. Loneliness crawls under your skin. You want to sit down on the cold sand and cry. You want to give in. When reunited with Gustus you're behind schedule.  He’s angry and relieved. Heda shushes him and suggests to continue quickly. But you can’t. You just stand there in the middle of the wilderness in the middle of the night and cannot move. Solace comes from the most unexpected source.

“Come on, princess!” It’s not a mockery for this time, you can tell. Costia comes back to you and give your shoulder a soft nudge.

“Don’t leave me hanging. I need you to stick around. Who else would I make fun of.”

So you proceed. It’s getting harder every consecutive minute. You need to separate your brain from the reality, you need to keep it occupied so you would not think about the worsening situation. You start to name every bone in the human body. In Latin, then in German and in English. Not aloud. Or at least you think so. When you are done with a human skeleton, you continue with a muscular system. You did this after the break-up almost every night until early morning when you couldn’t sleep and wanted to call her. Wanted to tell her how much you hate her. Or love her. It depended on the mood. You never did though. You've become numb. Somewhere between the abdomen and lower back, you catch Gustus stopping. He cuts the makeshift exoskeleton links and releases LTJG Blake from Heda. Instead, he bears her. Warrior stumbles but before you can reach her Costia is by her side.

“Less than 4k people. We are almost there.”

Almost there and there is a big difference, but so is 22k and 4k. You can do this because you still have a chest, upper back, neck and head muscles left. When you finally reach the car location, it still looks like a middle of nowhere. Young man, even younger than Costia stands next to Toyota Tundra Devolro and waves at you.

“To the car, quickly. Ladies to the trunk, Demolition man driver seat and Heda, well…”

He stammers and gulps when noticing her. He senses she’s not doing particularly great, but it seems she knows how to appease him.

“Well, no one tells Heda what to do, so she picks the seat by herself.”

She squeezes his arm and even when her face is covered there is no doubt she smiles.

“You heard him, let’s show some hustle ladies.”

She adds with her perfect British accent and then out of nowhere she turns to you. Not to Costia, not to Indra but you.

“You’re doing amazing. Soon, we will be out of this madness, I promise.”

She whispers, so it only reaches your ears. Her hand lays on your face and caresses it. Even she’s surprised by this move because when realises what she’s done she backs off too quickly and enters the car. Toyota Devolro is the colossal vehicle, but the trunk feels claustrophobic anyway, and it smells like nitroglycerin. Still, you grin like an idiot and think you could have live here if the warrior princess would join you. Unfortunately, she chose the passenger seat. The car moves, and you can’t see anything stacked in the trunk with another three ladies, but it’s clear that you hit the road. The engine must be altered because it's unusually quiet. Only a couple of minutes passes till it stops and you hear voices. You must reach the checkpoint. If you’re late and bribed guards are gone there is only a small chance you’ll live. This night has been a rollercoaster of emotions. Your numbness is fading. You finally feel something. And it’s not fear nor anger. It’s hope. After the moment the engine starts again, and you are free to enter the city of Madan. You touch the place on your face caressed by your saviour and shiver.  Somehow you cannot stop thinking about that weird song.

_This world is gonna burn, burn, burn_

_As long as we going down, baby, you should stick around_

It echoes in your head till the car stops, and you reach the safehouse destination. Still over excited teenage boy releases you from the trunk.

"Come, ladies, the big guy will take you inside, I hide the Toyota."

"A bookstore?"

LTJG Blake with AK 47 girl tailing her asks when realises your safehouse is the bookstore in a desolate alley. You are more concerned about how the car as big as a tank can be hidden.

"He's a genius kid, he'll manage, don't worry," Heda answers your unspoken question.

"No one cares about books anymore in the country at war. This is the safest place far and wide, soldier." And Octavia's pronounced one. Then follows Gustus and enters the building.

"Listen up. We some have time to rest. Use it wisely. We should be granted the passage through the Northern Checkpoint not sooner the 2pm but not later than 2:30. Our favourite watch will be there. In the meantime do whatever you want. Except leaving."

He spills after everyone gathers around the cashier counter and when finished he takes the masked warrior to the side. You growl. There suppose to be some alone time, you treating her wounds now, when you finally reached the safehouse. _Oh, my is there a doctor speaking, Clarke or a teenager with the crush? Damn it._  When you open your mouth and intervene, you hope for the first one.

"When you're done, come find me if you do not desire for blood-poisoning."

You don't wait for the answer and seek LTJG Blake instead. The AK-47 girl finally let her be and went to secure the exit door, with the young boy back. Octavia seems to be doing unexpectedly well sitting on the floor. You kneel down and take out everything you need for treating her injuries from the waist bag.

“Hold it.” You give her a small glow stick. It’s not much but at least you’ll see something.

She does as commanded and tells you some story about the squats challenge she won at her home army base. You wonder what the substance you agreed to inject in her veins was because she seems painless and relaxed. She even admits herself, she has no idea why she's so talkative.

"Are we BFF's, now, silly doc?" She says and reaches for one of the books scattered around.

Being focused on checking the abdomen wound and chuckling a bit because of an unexpected situation you don't notice someone's watching. Someone has hunkered down right behind you.

"Take this." You hear after your work's done. It's the warrior offering the blanket to LTJG Blake.

"Why should I take anything from you Batwoman?"

"Because you'll be really cold in no time." She spats cover the soldier and step up.  Octavia accepts eventually and lays downs, snuggling the book she found a moment ago and glowstick you gave her.

"Well, guess what mummy and daddy. You both can fuck off." She mutters and closes her eyes.

"What was in the syringe?" You jump on your feet not sure if you are interested in syringe content or stopping Heda from leaving you.

"Nothing you haven't seen before. Besides you wanted her to live."

She looks at you.  Well, you can't be sure because her head is all covered, and it's dark but you swear you feel it. Her stare. She's without a vest and doesn't look indestructible, anymore.

"I did. I do. And I want you to live too. So let me treat your wound."

She makes a few steps, and you think she plans to bail on you but then you realise she only tries to find a secluded spot behind the counter. You follow.

"Can you work in the dark?" She asks when going down to the floor.

"You have a flashlight, don't you?"

"Can you or can't you?"

"I can."

It's even darker behind the counter, you hardly see anything, but since in Syria you treated wounded in much worse surroundings.

"Take off your shirt then."

She does, and you are dependent only on the single sense. Touch. You disinfect your hand and the wound, and as much as she tries to handle the pain, you can hear the subdued groans. There is only as much as you can do without proper tools and proper light. Lots of shrapnel are still there but at least you cleared and bandaged it, so it's protected from additional contamination. Your work is finished your hands still lingering on her skin, though. You've gone mad for sure because the curves of her body seem so familiar. You shiver.  She can sense it so she moves and put the torn shirt back on.

"Thank you, doctor. You can go now. Take a rest." You already know you won't go when she slides down to the floor, lying on her stomach.

"I need some, too." She adds tiredly. You don't hesitate a moment to lay on your side right next to her.

"Would you mind, if I stay here with you?"

"I can't tell you what to do."

Yeah, you definitely out of your mind because it feels like an encouragement. You reach for her hand and intertwines your fingers. Whatever you expected it definitely and most likely wasn't her pulling you closer into her embrace. Yet, it's happening.

  



	3. Chapter 3

**Sunday, January 31, 2016**

**1:11 pm., Madan, Syria**

_ “Attack!” _

_ The coach screams. Home team is a goal down and only two minutes left, but he doesn’t plan to accept this fate. Neither does the team captain. She leads her teammates to one last offence. The captain scores. The crowd thunders. You jump with excitement and hear fireworks. Odd. It’s not the end, yet, isn’t it? _

“The city is under attack! It’s crawling with ISIS and the car is gone.”

When you open your eyes, you feel anything but excitement. Your head is spinning. You feel dizzy and exhausted. The images of the football stadium and great game are long gone.  _ Syria. _ That’s where you are, you realise. Funny how your brain finally gave you one happy dream in weeks and it was about the football game.

“What do you mean the car is gone?”

Gustus, the giant screams at the young boy who waited for you with Toyota Devolro. Your vision is blurred a bit, and your senses refuse to cooperate. There is without a doubt though, someone is angry, and someone’s still overly optimistic.

“It’s gone. They probably took it. ISIS worms.”

“Exactly. They are worms. Low, despicable creatures, slimy and nasty with only one purpose. To be stomped on. So how these human race vomit could steal our secured car?”

“Dumb luck? I don’t know, but I’m going to find it. There is a GPS device in the dashboard.”

“No, you won’t. You won’t go anywhere. You shouldn’t be here in the first place but safe at home.”

Your focus leaves the conversation, and you try to stand up but without much success. Your body feels like a broken instrument. Your face frowns in a painful grimace. Yeah, sleeping on the floor feels like that. But when you were falling asleep carmine flagstones could compare to the comfiest bed. That’s what your tired memory’s telling you. Or crazy Imagination.

“Come, it’s not safe in here anymore.”

No, you didn’t imagine her because she’s still here, softly squeezing your shoulder. Her face still masked and her voice still strong but soothing. She helps you back on the feet. Your treacherous weary mind plans to fall right into her embrace in the process, but she senses it and steps back.  _ Oh, how embarrassing. Hello, Clarke! _ There are gunshot and explosions behind the doors. There is a war going on. You have been acutely aware of this fact for quite a time and tried to cope with it the best way you could. Being composed, strong-willed, rational. And vigilant. You always had to be vigilant around Pike.  It’s all gone to shit it seems. Your exhausted brain obviously decided it needs a break and is about to act like 12 years old school girl with a crush.  _ Is it a sign of complete mental breakdown? Are you losing your mind? Hallucinating? Seeing, feeling things that are not real? _ You have no time to wonder about it because you have to escape closing ISIS forces.

“Hey, It’s ok Aden.”

Heda is not in your proximity anymore, and maybe it’s for the better. Her charm enthrals the young boy for the moment.

“Just focus and tell us everything you remember. What’s going on out there? What did you find out?”

“The moment it started I climbed the roof. The southwest part of the city is a battlefield. Assad’s forces are retreating burning everything behind them.”

“We need to be out of town,” Indra speaks.

“Sewers.” Say The masked Warrior and AK 47 girl in unison.

The huge grin appears on young boy face as he reaches for the backpack and retrieves smudgy papers, probably the sewer system maps.

“The closest entrance is down the street.” He says, and Heda commands everyone to do what’s necessary without a single word spoken. Only simple moves and gestures.  Aden checks the ultra-short wave transmitter and aligns the information he gains with those he gathered on the roof. Costia packs everything essential, and Gustus is about to help LTJG Blake when Indra interrupts him.

“I got her.”

“She’s my responsibility.”

He grunts and is ready to disagree with the shorter of the Kurdish commanders. Not politely you assume. Lay of hand extinguishes any possible firestorm. One on the shoulder of the big man the other on the woman of incredible strength.

“Save the grudge. We’ll encounter ISIS sooner or later. You can unleash it then. Maybe make them WAS WAS in the process. It’s up to you. Now let’s show some hustle. If you do not prefer to be WAS WAS instead.”

And you thought it’s all rainbows and unicorns, and you’ve become one big family. Except for the war behind your back. It seems Gustus only respects Heda and everyone else is just pain in his ass.

“Come on Cinderella! There will be no Princess charming kiss to wake you up. We are in rush if you didn’t notice.”

And you’re obviously pain in someone else ass too. Did Costia say princess charming not prince charming? How could she know? Well, you’ll think about it later because there is some great escape scheduled for the moment. So you follow the rest of the party, leave the bookstore and sneak towards sewer entrance. Sharp acid smell of smoke would normally make you cough. Or anyone. No one is coughing though. No one is bothered by heavy gunshot or low visibility. No one is thinking about people who are dying not far away. Because this is war. Death is more common than tasty breakfast. Any breakfast, actually. And you came here willingly, even believed you could change something. If it weren’t from masked warrior you’d be death by now. As death as decaying body you just stumbled upon. You finally slip into the sewer shaft. When reaching the bottom and look around you realise the sewer system is enormous. And stinks worse than decomposition. But it’s ok. It’s a way out, and someone is genuinely enthusiastic to drag you through. Costia uses two glowing light sticks and Aden is all fired up waving at you showing the right direction. He’s not older than fifteen. Maybe it’s only a game for him. Perhaps it’s all he can remember from the life he has lived, that’s why he’s not scared at all. Bombs, gunshots, decaying bodies none of it has threw him out of balance. He’s is navigating you through the water system maze remarkably swift. Three consecutive explosions, too loud and too close would probably get unnoticed if not for the collapsing ceiling. In the world you lived couple of months ago any of what you experienced in last thirty minutes would create exaggerated or uncontrollable emotions. A mess. Hell even something so foolish as big sales or musical performance of mediocre singer causing mass hysteria. On the contrary these people are facing real danger every moment every day and stay focused, calm and high spirited.  As much as you want to go back to your old life, there are so many thing that never will be the same for you. You check on your companions in the dim light of glowing sticks and everyone seem to be doing well, a bit dusty but successfully avoided falling bricks. You don’t try to reason with your need to be right next to the masked warrior anymore but same as before she doesn’t need your support. For this time it’s Gustus who’s shielding her.

“Right. The shortest path seems to be out of reach,” Aden points to the collapsed corridor in front of you, “and we cannot go back either.” The path behind you met the same fate.

“But don’t worry ladies and big guy. I already have an alternative.”

He looks at map and disappears in some hole in the wall. Everyone follows like nothing happens. Like you weren’t three seconds from dying a minute ago. After long time spent in the low squalid corridor you finally reach some kind of chamber. Two chambers connected by the rusty gateway or more like sliding doors. Fortunately, open and granting you a clear passage. Or so your little group think, till you realise there is another sliding doors on the far side of the second chamber but this one is closed. Your companions gather there but even overhyped guide Aden falters after many unsuccessful attempts to figure out how the door mechanism works. In the meantime you are drawn to Heda again, because you can sense she has a plan. Everyone can sense it, everyone looks up to her. But the inner doctor wins and you check Octavia instead of seeking your unsolicited crush. American soldier is grumpy as always. She also seems kind of undecided if she’s thankful you saved her life or pissed you didn’t let her go and drag her into this crazy crusade. Occupied with her sulky mood and weeping wounds you miss Heda’s plan being set in motion. Jangling sound of moving chains has your imminent attention but it’s too late. The sliding doors between chambers is going down till the the exit one is going up. You see masked warrior behind the first one. You jump on your feet in no time but the doors are too fast, too far away. You can only watch it heavily smashing the floor and also almost Aden’s head. He’s too quick and too agile for death it seems and makes it to the other side sliding through the tiniest gap between door and stone floor.

“Heda!”

Gustus is very vexed with her. There is no doubt. You feel panic crawling under your skin. Endless panic and you have no idea where does it come from.

“I found the solution,” Heda speaks calmly.

“Unfortunately, only one door can be up at the moment. You go to the exit! I don’t approve his actions, “she helps Aden to stand up”, but since my personal GPS made it to the other side, I still have a chance to see the end of the day, too.”

“Heda!”

Gustus shouts again and kicks the sliding doors. Weirdly, you feel the same anger. What the hell has she done?

“Go, Gustus! You made a promise.”

“To keep you safe.” He snaps.

“I remember the different promise.”

“Heda…”

“Kiddo and I are leaving. We’ll manage, and you are taking others to safety.”

He growls but resigns eventually. You won’t, though. You can stop the meltdown. You’re losing control over yourself.

“How could you do this to your people. How could you abandon them like that!”

The fury inside you is so familiar. And so strange at the same time. When Heda saved you the other night, you release all the pressure you had on your shoulders, all the fears and burdens you bore for weeks, but something stayed untouched. The rage. You came to Syria because you were mad at the woman on the picture in your pocket, at yourself, at the whole world. You wanted to forget about all that. Suddenly, you remember everything.

“I bought you a ticket out. So go now, don’t be so freaking stubborn for once, Clarke.”

You’re becoming convinced this is not happening. You have started hallucinating at an unspecified time. There must be some hallucinogen gas in the sewers because there is no chance those words, you’ve just heard belong to the masked Kurdish commander. You hear someone who’s not here. Who cannot be here. You feel dizzy, probably losing the last pieces of your sanity.

“You are a fucking coward, and I fucking hate you!” Your hand hit the door bar and lingers. “You and your selfish one sided  decisions.”

“Of course you do. Now go!”

She touches the bar too and intertwines your fingers for the shortest moment. When she leaves, you feel faint.

“Come on Princess. She’ll kill me if you die.”

You are dragged away, hardly apprehend someone is talking to you. Not much around seems real, not much you really perceive. Dark corridors, hasty remarks, stumbling and being dragged still.

“Holy hell, cooperate a bit Snow white or do you want me to call seven dwarfs?”

After some time you’re able to decode other words and spot light on the end of the tunnel. When out, on the waterfront of the wild river you feel yourself falling on your knees. Costia released you. You’re slowly coming to your senses. Or maybe not but there is a conversation between Costia and Indra you barely understand because it’s in Kurdish.

“We have to go back to the city. They went out from sewers at some point and are out there in the streets.” You agree with Gustus, although…

“We’ll die in there in no time. If not the crossfire hit us the nerve gas surely will.” ...Indra is right.

“So we swim across this tiny wild river and run into rainbow instead. Boom. Lived happily ever after, closing credits.”

It seems Costia plans to hit Octavia for reckless words. Hell maybe you want to hit her too, but Indra intervenes.

“There is the shallow ground up the river. Aden knows it. If they make it, they will be heading there.”

What choice do you have, you wonder and follow her suggestion eventually. Everyone does. Waterfront is partly secluded from the near city of Madan, but the sound of the heavy fight is not distant at all. You’re sweating and breathing heavily in the hot environment thinking about how much of last 24 hours really happened and how much is your mind playing tricks when the shortwave transmitter in Costia’s bag rustles.

_ “Follow the white rabbit, short party. We are heading there.” _

_ “Do you realise we are fewer, so we are the short party, Aden.” _

_ “Right. Long party, follow the white rabbit. Don’t worry about us, Heda’s on fire. She knocked down six ISIS within three seconds and didn’t even make a sweat. Oh, and we have the Toyota back. I told you big guy. Short party out.” _

“Copy that, short party.” Costia chirps. She sound so happy she could burst.

“We’ll follow the white rabbit. You better stay alive. Long party out.” 

You have no idea what they were talking about. Doesn’t matter. Heda and Aden live. It must be enough for now. So you make yourself go on. After an hour of exhausting walk, you hear an angry commanding voice behind. No one moves. Costia swears and reluctantly puts  down the AK 47.

“Turn around slowly. No haste. The advantage is on our side. Those wankers believe if killed by a woman, they won't go to heaven.” 

Indra whispers. The twisted way of thinking of these unstable zealots is already known to you though.

Before you can follow her advice, the possible threat is defeated. Three ISIS fighters lay on the ground knocked down, the masked warrior above them. Not for long. Drained and injured she ends on her knees.

“Glad you make it long party. Aden will be here in no time.” She says trying to catch a breath.

For this time no one takes the spot next to her faster than you.

_ Lexa,  _ you almost blurt happily but bite your lip the last possible moment instead and only hug her tightly but carefully.  _ Holy hell.  _ You’ve become completely mad. She’s not HER. She’s not your beloved Lexa, the woman you let go and blame for leaving. Your ex-girlfriend is thousands of kilometres away enjoying her money and fame and plenty of adoring lady fans.

This woman is a total stranger. She prolongs the hug anyway and softly caresses your back. You spot the approaching Toyota and help her stand up.

“No more crazy stunts. As your doctor I order you to rest. Preferably on my shoulder.”

You hear yourself saying when entering the back seat Heda still firmly pressed on you.

“We pissed some people back in the city so someone may be on our trail. But my new friend will provide enough support.”

Aden says to Gustus who settled on the driver seat. It doesn't take long, and two ISIS cars appear behind you, obviously more than eager to bring you down. Costia squeezes her AK 47 with utmost tenderness leans out of the window and gives them couple of leaden gifts.

“Dr. Griffin could you help me with this royal lady.”

Aden points to the massive roll-shaped object on the floor.

“Ha, an RPG,” Octavia remarks amusingly.

It’s heavy as shit, but with her help three of you can load the Rocket-propelled grenade and support Aden to aim it from the roof window. First two shots miss, and you think you're doomed. Flying bullets are everywhere, and even when you don't notice some of those hits you,  doesn't mean it didn't happen. The adrenaline would prevent you to feel it. Together you load the RPG for the third time, and it finally hits the target. One of the cars explodes. It's the first time in your life your deliberate effort kills someone. Maybe it will haunt you later, but you feel relief now. The RPG is out of ammo, though. Fortunately, outstanding shooting skills of Costia and Indra neutralise the other vehicle.

“Burn in hell bitches!” 

AK 47 proud holder shouts and collapses to the seat. You end up right next to the masked warrior, checking her vital signs. You’re tempted to uncover her face but she stops you and snuggle into your arms instead.

“I think I’m dying.” She whispers.

“No, you are not. I won't let you.”

  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Costia’s POV

**Sunday, January 31, 2016**

**3:02 pm., Northeastern Syria**

“Oh, shit. That was freaking awesome.”

Aden’s scream is the last enthusiastic thing he’s capable of after putting down the RPG. Then he crawls to the back storage area of Toyota. His tiny body is too small for such a big space, so he can basically lay flat. Which he does, overwhelmed by exhaustion.

“We just took those bastards down and live to tell about it. I mean, no one got hit and is dying,  right?”

Now after it’s over, it’ll slowly come to the surface. He will realise this fucking madness is not a game. No reloading the latest save. Death bodies remain death, bloodthirsty warmongers are not scripted algorithms. And it doesn’t matter how much of them he’ll kill it never will be enough. And it always will be too much.

“No one is dying.” Says Heda and glances at you.

AK 47 lays on your chest, you squeezing it tightly when trying to catch a breath. Even tighter than the doctor holds your commander. You look at them and know it doesn’t matter how much you don’t want to think about Kobanî about how much you lost there two years ago, you can’t avoid it. You hope those men you killed suffered a lot of pain and those who are still alive, will meet the same fate. You don’t realise you have been sobbing till Heda reaches for your hand and caresses it gently. It feels great. Amazing, actually. At least something nice still exists in this God damned word. Someone cares about you. You may enjoy her empathy but seems like two other occupants of the back seat doesn’t appreciate your connection that much. The doctor, she has her own reasons, even she doesn’t understand,yet. You do, though. And American soldier, she apparently feels awkward and out of place sitting between you and Heda, your linked hands practically on her lap. She’s such a lost kitten trying to pretend being a fierce beast. You’d feel sorry for her, hell maybe sympathize with her, if you didn’t hate American cowardly traitors. Fucking backstabbers. If they support you on time at Kobanî many could live. Fake saviours who don’t give shit about your people, that’s what they are. Only care about their own selfish goals. Where did she been when ISIS were slaughtering innocents? Looking at her, probably on high school. Damn her. And with all that crazy shits going on she must look so very much like…

“Something’s wrong with the engine. Can’t you hear? We should stop. The cooler is definitely off, just look at the dashboard.” She blurts and pulls you back to reality.

“Are you crazy, we can’t stop now.”

The big guy is not your favourite, but you agree with him for this time.

“No, she’s right. I can hear it too. We should check it. If it’s serious, it will backfire on us sooner or later.” If Aden says so, something is going on, no doubt. Well shit.

Gustus grunts and finds the spot where the car will be at least mildly covered behind the bushes. When it stops Aden jumps from the trunk and slides under the vehicle. The American soldier is eager to join him, and you are ordered to let her by the soft squeeze of the hand. After that Heda gives another order.

“I need to be alone with Costia for the moment.”

Gustus would do anything she demands. Indra has no reason to oppose, so the only one who’s reluctant to leave the car is the doctor, but she does eventually. When you’re alone, you know what Heda wants from you, so you reach for the bag with the syringe kit and inject the needed substance into her vein.

“You know the doctor could handle this better.”

You tease, and according to her eyes, you know she smiles. The world around is going to shit, but with her around, you’re still able to do such mundane things as jokes. The part of you died after Kobanî, but when she showed up, you realised something very much alive still left. You’ve started to believe there’s gotta be more to life then killing and survival. She was the first person who understood how you felt.

“The doctor is getting out of hands. She will figure out our game sooner or later. With her temper let it be as close to Rojava as possible. So we better keep her out of reach.”

“I-I understand.” Only partly but if that’s what Heda wants.

“What about you?  How are you holding up? It’s crazy, isn’t it? The whole thing with LTJG Blake?”

Heda’s palms end on your face, her thumbs softly caressing your cheeks. You sigh, and she brings you closer, let your forehead rest on hers. You know you can tell her anything, you know she’s the only one who gets it.

“It was quite of the shocker. The resemblance. Frankly, I still don’t know how it does make me feel.”

“Hey, whatever you feel is alright.” She gives you a warm hug and leaves a kiss on your hair.

“And I’m here if you want to talk about it. Now go check on her. I bet she misses your AK 47 aimed at her.”

“I love you, but you can be such a prick sometimes.”

“That’s the exact reason you love me, no?”

“Right.”

You chuckle and get off the car. Gustus and Indra are checking the perimeter together when the doctor gives you not entirely friendly glance.

“Hey Princess, if you frown so much it leaves wrinkles on your face, you know.”

She stops frowning immediately and turns away. Part of you wants to tell her how lucky she actually is but you know you can’t do that, yet. It’s Heda’s decision to make. So you rather check on Aden who’s still under the car and American soldier kneeling on the ground leaning into the back wheel. From what you understand from their little chit chat the bullets did severe damage to the engine that can be fixed temporarily but the Toyota will be able to manage only a few more kilometres and than cooler has to be replaced. You project a few different scenarios in your head of what you should and could do considering the circumstances when the soldier’s voice interrupts you.

“Did I piss her or something?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your AK 47. It’s usually pointed at me, so maybe I did something that made her angry when it’s not anymore.”

“Why you’d say HER when talking about the gun?”

“NADIA is a name for the woman I presume, and it’s the name written on the strap, so I guess that’s how you call HER.”

“I do not give the gun a name. Who would do such a silly thing? It belonged to Nadia, that’s why there’s her name on the strap.”

“Why it doesn’t belong to Nadia, anymore?”

“Because she lives no longer.”

You gulp, and the sassiness of American soldier dissipates. You’d like to be stronger, but the memory of Nadia overcomes you. You have to leave. You need some alone time. When about to stand up she reaches for your hand.

“I’m sorry she does not. I bet she was an outstanding fighter and great companion. I’ve never seen the customise weapon as great as yours. HERS.”

“I don’t need your fake concerns. Neither does she.”

Well, fuck Octavia. The anger takes the lead. Fuck this American soldier. You free your hand aggressively and try to leave the area of her influence. You walk towards the wilderness, breathing heavily. You need to cool down a bit. Two minutes alone will be enough. But when you slow your pace, you realise she’s has been following you the whole time. You bet she has no clue what’s she’s doing because she reaches for your hand again.

“Wait! You shouldn’t be walking around alone. Wait!”

“Don’t push your luck Amerîkî. Just don’t.”

You turn and aim the AK 47 on her in the false hope she backs off. She doesn’t and pushes the gun aside. You allow her.

“If you’re seeking for new friends and making your survival easier, I’m not the right person. So you really can save your effort for Heda or Indra. Now move.”

She stares at you, and there is a serious struggle going on behind those eyes. You can only guess, but maybe part of her is sorry for what happened to your people and wants to make things right, just don’t know how.

“Ok.”

That’s what she says and is ready to do what you suggested. To leave you alone. But suddenly you don’t want that. The fucked up situation has not left anyone unaffected. You’re not an exception. For the same fucked up reason, LTJG Blake looks almost like the original owner of the AK 47, Nadia. So you simply cannot resist. You grab her hand and pulls her back.

“If you showed up at time, if you helped us at Kobanî, she’d live.”

Your fist ends on American soldier chest. You hit her again and again and again. And she does nothing but stands there and accepts your rage.

“I loved her, and she loved me. But I bet you know nothing about love. Your kind only cares about money and power and success. The number of likes and followers. You are fake and only care about fake. You know nothing about real life, real feelings.”

Against your predictions, she pulls you into her embrace and resists all attempt to be pushed away. You fight hard though, you hate the fate that brought you into this fucked-up situation. She wraps her strong arms around you and doesn’t leave much space for an escape.

“We are fake. But as much as it worth I am genuinely really sorry about what happened to Nadia.”

“You’re fucking not.”

You mumble into the crook of her neck and let yourself to be pulled deeper into her arms. Damn it. You never had a chance to say goodbye to Nadia. One day she was there, the other the only thing that left was the maimed torso in the plastic bag. If she just listened, you could leave Kobanî and take refuge in Germany. So many others did.   _I won’t abandon my city, my people._ That’s what she said. You fought, and she joined the battle despite your disapproval and paid the biggest price. You were so angry with her, you still are, but maybe it’s time to let it go. To let her go. To finally forgive her for taking the gun recklessly and getting killed, leaving you alone in this crazy mess as a result. You look up, and your fingers trail soldier’s face.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

You say to Nadia and capture her lips for the one last time. LTJG Blake is definitely taken aback, but to your surprise, she doesn’t shy away from the kiss. It’s slow and tender, and you don’t want to break it but deepened it. When you do, she steps back panting looking all confused. You watch her and know Nadia is gone for good only dazed American soldier left. You kind of used her for your own closure, and as much as you’re sorry she’s messed up because of it now, you can’t help her to deal with it. You have your own issues.

“We should go back.”

It’s everything that you got for her before turn away and head back to the car. You join the strategic meeting about what to do next that takes place in front of the car hood. Rojava is at least hundred kilometres away and with sudden ISIS movement in Madan you cannot be sure which passage is safe. The car can manage 30 kilometres approx, but the engine desperately needs some new components.

“City of Danto-yn. We could settle there till we figure things out.”

You squeeze the AK 47 and feel every eye on you. Even soldier’s. She does it again. Trying to pretend how though she is.

“It’s a small agricultural settlement 20k northeast. Nothing interesting around. We should be relatively safe there, and I know the place. Me and my family lived there for the moment. My father even served as the police officer so I know already where we could stay and what people to contact.”

“Sounds like a plan, then. A good one.” Says Indra a puts the hand on your shoulder squeezing it encouragingly. She’s one of the longest-serving commanders of Women’s protection unit and definitely the most respected one. Nadia adored her. Praise from her is not an everyday occurrence, and you value it greatly.

“You rock as always, Costia.” Says your true commander, though.

“I learn from the best.”

You wink, and the feeling of closure is complete. Nadia would be proud, you’ve become an essential part of YPJ.  But you’re not doing this for her anymore, you realise.

“The front seat, you are going to navigate.”

Indra points you to the front door, and if your mind weren’t so occupied, you’d notice American soldier is not particularly excited about the new seating arrangement.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Siege of Kobanî, Costia is contemplating about is the real event. It was launched by ISIS in order to capture the Kobanî canton in the region of Rojava in 2014. Kurds and their allies were able to defeat ISIS eventually, but it wasn’t without a cost. 70% of Kobanî city was destroyed, many were forced to flee. The battle for Kobanî was considered a turning point in the war against ISIS.
> 
> Danto-yn is not a real settlement, I made it up, and it was inspired by Dantooine.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke's POV

**Wednesday, February 3, 2016**

**8:21 am., Northeastern Syria, Danto-yn, 55 kilometers in beeline distance to Rojava territory**

Everything was crazy mental since you left Pike’s medical compound. Grenade explosion, run through the wilderness sneaking around Madan and then you came here to this average settlement and have stayed hunkered down in the woodwork basement for two days. The third one is about to begin. You definitely do not desire to be stuck in the sewers or taking long walks through the desert again but it really starts to get annoying just sit here and do nothing. Well there is something. Twice a day, mornings and evenings you are allowed to check Heda´s injuries. Costia never forgets to remind that you are not supposed to talk to her. You never listen. She never responds, anymore. At least not with words. But you are a doctor, you know human physiology too well. Her body always reacts to your touch as much as yours reacts to hers. Which is insane of course because you know nothing about her and still have not seen her face all the time covered with some kind of headgear, face mask, scarf, helmet or whatever. Same as her hair. And maybe the whole mystery thing is what nurture your desire the most and you just cannot help yourself and feel like there is some kind of connection between you two. You only felt something similar once before and doing nothing just nesting in this safehouse and thinking about your freaking feelings doesn't help at all. You wash your face again and look at the dirty mirror. Considering the circumstances it's not bad. Both. The level of an hygiene provided by woodwork basement and your own look. Actually it’s a whole flat down here. Two bedrooms, bathroom and small kitchen. You, LTJG Blake, Costia and Aden are in fact sleeping on the ground on bedrolls. But in the second room there are actual beds. You know that because that’s where you treat Heda’s injury. So it’s a bit rustic and dark nevertheless sufficient. You start to style your hair but stop it abruptly when you realise you are doing it for her. You want to look good for her.

“For fuck sake, Clarke. Stop it! You have to stop it!” You mutter.

You don't understand how can you act so sloppy. This is the country at war not some teenage wet dream. _The Dream._ You sight, close your eyes and relive the one you had this night. You were standing on the cliff's edge. The sea below you was raging. You could swear a moment before you had felt extreme discomfort, you had been tearing apart but at the same time even when you knew it had been there, the whole memory of it was so distant, intangible. Something else was rising, approaching. Someone. When you felt her right behind you everything's warmer, calmer. You felt safe and did not hesitate for a second to turn around. Her eyes was immediately locked on yours. The beautiful green eyes you lost yourself into. You shiver. The dream was so intense. The whole sentiment was so intense. Exceptional. You are not sure if you are grateful or disappointed it didn't continue because there is no doubt what would follow after she put the scarf down and unmasked her face. Instead of dreaming about the most sensual kiss you were woken up by Octavia’s scream. Unlike you she was haunted by real terrors not mushy feelings. _Or so you think._

“Urgh. Enough!”

You curse yourself again for all those unresolved issues coming back now and causing this mess. What are you thinking, falling for the masked Kurdish commander you met 3 days ago? Not to mention most likely committed to one of her fellow warriors. But something does not add. Why she speaks perfect British English. Why is her scent so familiar? Why she refuses to reveal her face? Tricky questions are still buried deep down but you know it won't take long and those will resurface. Conflicted, excited, frustrated but at least finally out of gloomy numbness that caged you for weeks you leave the bathroom pass the corridor and enter the kitchen with intention to check if Heda’s ready. You know treating the injury means you are going to touch her, something you are craving for but you also know it will be a tough fight to not linger for too long. Not replace care with caress. Like you did yesterday. You allowed your hand to trail her arm and shoulder, continued towards the neck. She moaned softly and you were so close to take down the scarf covering her face. She was far from stopping you. Gustus spoilt it. Or saved the day. He entered the room and called you for a dinner.

For now, the kitchen is unexpectedly empty. Only LTJG Blake sitting at the shabby table sipping her tea silently and AK-47 girl right opposite. Without army clothes, they look different. For your stay in Danto-yn all women in your party change to more _traditional_ outfits. You don’t pay much attention to those two, and that’s why you do not notice their hands on the table are linked and their eyes locked. And that’s why they are not aware you’re approaching.

What catches your attention and theirs probably too is Heda rushing from the bedrooms area and heading to the stairs in the corner of the kitchen. Her headgear for today is niqab. How innovative. She can’t see you yet because you stand in the shadow and niqab doesn’t offer predominantly wide view range. The moment you realise she is about to leave the hideout your hand instinctively grab her forearm.

“Where are you going? Your wounds need to be treated.”

She is still injured. And technically, your patient. Her well-being must be your concern. She should rest not wander around the city. Is this action of yours bold? Stupid? Insane? Is doctor Griffin speaking? Or the crazy teenage twin inside you? You have no idea. Worse, your mind is clouded. You cannot make yourself to release the hold.

“Costia!”

The shout sounds forlorn. She doesn’t look at you. She doesn't move her shaking forearm either. Only waits for the other girl. Every cell in your brain is telling you that the reasonable thing is to leave her alone. Without success.

There is a short nervous conversation between them in Kurdish and then distracted Costia becomes a wall between you two, trying to drag you away. You expected more significant determination, but it seems she is almost reluctant to do so.

“As your doctor, I strongly recommend you to stay in bed.” You demand, slowly releasing the grip.

“Keep her occupied. Take her to the marketplace, buy some shoes or bags. That's what women do, isn’t it? I don't care. Just keep her away from me. And alive.” Commander’s words confuse you extremely. Her attempt to regain authority tricks you.

“Heda,” Costia, turns a bit but still blocks your way, “please don't go alone.“  She reaches for her arm, and you can tell she is as much concerned about Heda’s sudden departure as you.

“With Gustus, Aden and Indra out there seeking for new cooler or Intel or whatever, there is no other option. Surely you understand why we cannot leave LTJG Blake and doctor Griffin alone.”

You hear her say your name and miss the mix of desperation and eagerness in her voice reprehensibly. You heard it so many times, said by so many people but only one person before made it sound so… You tremble. No, you cannot be imagining it, can you? You’re not in the sewer filled with psychoactive gas anymore.

“Take the soldier with you at least. Please. She might be a pussy with no real close combat experience but at least honourable pussy. These _Amerîkî_ are mostly cowards, but they still have some qualities. Follow a code. Besides, even without field practice, she must have very advanced training, and you saved her life. She is ready to make herself an asset, isn’t she?”

Octavia stands up slowly and doesn't say a word to the comment that supposed to sound snarky, but in the end, it didn’t. You neither. No one does for what it seems like an eternity. If you didn’t stare at Kurdish commander, you’d notice another possible drama has already started.

“Alright.” That's all that Heda offers before goes upstairs, unlocks the door to the woodwork and disappears.

“Wear this. Cover your face.” Costia reaches for the racks next to the stairs and hands LTJG Blake a piece of clothing. Scarf. Her attempt to touch American soldier is banished, but you have no chance to notice. After the failure, she steps back and pushes you away from the exit, but her scorching look doesn’t leave the soldier.

“Do as she commands. Don’t even think about some crazy bullshit like trying to run away. Just back her up and come back safely. Or I'll kill you.”

AK-47 girl squeezes the grip of her beloved gun hanging over the shoulder as a confirmation the words are genuine. You've come to the conclusion you've never seen her without it. If you were more perceptive, you’d come to the other conclusion as well, and it’d spare you a lot of trouble later. Because   _I’ll kill you_ definitely didn’t sound like a threat but like a plead. Emotional appeal.

“You want me back?” LTJG Blake smirks. From all of the expressions, she could choose she does the crazy grin.

“And so I thought you are a heartless bitch who can’t stand my useless American ass.”

“I can’t. Now fuckin go.”

Says young Kurdish but Octavia doesn’t hear it because she already slammed the door behind her and left the woodwork.

The weird conversation they had leaves you confused. You are not able to comprehend what caused peculiar intensity between them. What you're able to see is that everything that's happening is such a mess. Everything around you is so ambiguous. Suddenly you feel a bit insecure to be left alone with Costia. Bitch. That is definitely the right word to describe her.  Heartless, not so much. She cares deeply about Heda and Aden, and she helped you to stay alive. She barely has reached her adulthood, yet and she already has to deal with so many shits.

After some time spent alone, she stops guarding the door and you and ends behind the table. You are considering the departure, but it would be reckless to wander around the city alone, and the chance of finding Heda is close to zero, anyway.

“Wanna play cards?” Costia notes like it was the best thing to do right now.

Hell, you don’t. How can she think about cards? Your dismissive look must be a pretty clear demonstration of your thoughts. Doesn’t seem your AK-47 _friend_ mind when she retrieves a card deck from the pocket and sits down.

“We used to play patience with...”

She gulps and smiles, but it hardly can be any sadder. It seems not only you are affected by basement atmosphere. Maybe going out will lighten the mood.

“What about the trip to the marketplace instead? And some shopping? If it was a real option of course.”

What you know from your companions Danto-yn is a relatively safe settlement. There is no oilfield nearby only olive groves. And that kind of oil is not what any interested party in this conflict desire. There was the carpet factory southeast captured and served as a Rebel's base, but ISIS killed them and burnt it to the ground. With nothing else interesting they left. The rural settlement itself does not have a good strategic position as a base for attacks, and it’s outside the main supply lines. So that’s why you’re stuck in here. Because it's probably safer than most of Syria. But for the same reason you cannot leave, yet. ISIS is all around you.

“We can do that. We can go out, with covered faces we should be safe.” You can tell such kind of distraction is a pleasant thought for her too.

“But don’t expect we are going to meet her.”

You shake your head as if she didn’t see right through you and knew that’s exactly what you expect.

“I made a promise. Besides I don't even know where she went.”

It’s a pinch of disappointment in her voice. Then she makes her goodbyes with AK-47 because she cannot take it on the trip, it would be fishy and give you the hijab. Even helps you to adjust it appropriately and put something in your pocket in the process. You don’t pay much attention to it because you wonder if the gun was a present from Heda. There is definitely some kind of sign on the strap ending with the letters D and A.

You leave workshop together. After a couple of minutes, you also abandon shady side alleys and join the city life. Finally sunlight. This settlement is the least damaged part of the Syria you’ve seen, yet and combined with being on the fresh air you feel a pleasure overflowing your body. Well, limited pleasure but still. You do not fool yourself. Heda is still out there with mashed upper back, and these people are far from happy-go-lucky. On the other hand, the source of their happiness lays in mundane things, the majority of the western civilisation already forgot about. That’s why most of them, those whose mind was not poisoned by hatred and zealotry, value the simple but important things.  The things you cannot buy in iStore for example.

When one of the kids playing hare and hounds, the little girl with penetrating green eyes hits you at full speed and falls down, you want to burst into laughter first time in months.  She’s confused at first but then stands up slowly and smiles shyly.

 _“I’m sorry, miss.”_ She mumbles in Arabic, and you’re glad you were able to understand.

 _“It’s ok. Are you alright?”_ You also hope she understands your lousy attempt to speak her language and kneel down to check on her, stroke her hair. She seems unharmed and gives you another smile and eager nod.

 _“Go play with other kids, sweetie. I bet they already miss you.”_ Says your Kurdish companion kindly and grabs your arm.

“Don’t talk with anyone, dummy. Don’t be so overly emotional. It’s suspicious.” She whispers, and the kind tone of her voice is long gone.  

You continue walking through the square side by side, and after a couple of minutes Costia breaks the silence and tells you about her childhood in here, about the remarkable architecture of the Police station building her Father worked in. Maybe she wants to make it up to you for being an unnecessary bitch when doing the same thing she just scolded you for a moment ago. You don’t listen much to her rambling, though. Or maybe it’s not even an attempt to make friendly conversations. It actually seems speaking helps her to cope with something. Something you don’t have time nor energy to think about because Heda’s whereabouts are all in your head. But when she starts talking about how her childhood friend stole the famous AK-47 from the rebel mercenary wannabe at the exact place you’re passing by right now it peaks your attention. You basically blurt.

“So Heda gave you the gun? She really wanted to impress you when doing something so reckless.”

“I said Nadia, you dumbass not Heda.”

“Nadia? Who’s Nadia?”

“For fuck sake. Are all Americans so stupid?”

“Are all Kurds so much pain in the ass? And I’m only half-American by the way. So who’s Nadia?”

“Are you deaf? The girl who stole the gun, my dead girlfriend. Same oblivious idealistic idiot as you.”

“Your girl---, dead? What? What about Heda, then?”

“What about her? She’s not dead nor my girlfriend. Tis’ I am not the reason why she’s putting herself in danger again and again. It’s you who ripped her heart and stomped on it and if she’ll get hurt because of you once more… fuck.”

She tries to keep her voice down. Without much success. You fail too and can’t keep your heartbeat steady.

“And the poor American soldier. I might put her in a position of being an acceptable loss just because of your freaking love affair. Fuck, I can’t stay with your annoying existence for another second.”

“Wait, You cannot leave me in here. And what do you mean by love..? Wait! ”

“I fucking know, I can’t. She’d kill me if I do. But I need a break from you. Just stay here. Don’t move, till I bring something to eat. Don’t talk to anyone.”

You definitely feel like an oblivious annoying idiot. And you also feel relief. Which is even more idiotic and annoying. A part of your sanity is telling you that it’s crystal clear what she meant. That you knew all along, the other part though knows it’s impossible. You pace around nervously awaiting Costia’s arrival. Coming back from the food stand she gives you shawarma.

“I’m sorry about what happened to Nadia. I’m sorry about...”

“Don’t talk please, just sit down and eat.”

She sighs and helps you to move your scarf and uncovers your face, so you are able to eat. You sit on the edge of a fountain and for this time listen and do as she asked. The food provides some distraction, but it’s barely enough. The loose ends in your head are insanely eager to be tied up.

“You annoy me like shit, but I guess I am still grateful if it weren’t for you I’d never meet Heda. She brought me back to life. Her faith, her effort, her invincibility.”

You decide you let her continue without interruptions.

“I get it, I understand why she doesn’t want to tell you. You’re a crazy woman, and no one could predict what would you do, but this must drive you even more insane.  I can see it, you’re losing your mind. Your common sense is telling you it cannot be possible when your heart knows it’s true.”

You finally exhale feeling your whole body shaking.

“Well, it is true, Princess of Persia. Your beloved one has come to save you.”

“Lexa. Oh, God.” You bury your face into your trembling palms. “Why did this. Why!?” You feel like suffocating. If anything happens to her, it’s your fault only.

“Because she loves you, you idiot. But why you did this? Why you ended in the freaking goddamned country in the middle of the war.”

The answer to her question is the last thing you want to think about. Actually, you don’t want anything else than see Lexa, right away. The crazy part of your mind would make you stand up and seek her immediately, your body won’t allow that, though. You feel sick and nauseous, still shaking insanely. It was her all the time. It was your Lexa who suffered tremendous pain after the grenade attack and was ready to rot in sewers to save you. It was her who took down ISIS fighters single-handedly.

“Don’t vomit, oh shit, don’t. Breathe. Just calm down and breathe. I’ll bring you some tea.” She puts her hand on your back lightly.

“We have to find her.” Fortunately, you control your stomach a bit and don’t vomit. Yet.

“She can take care of herself. Besides, don’t forget you’re number one priority. And in your current state, you’re barely able to sit. Walking is out of option till you calm down.”

She’s right. You’re one step from a stroke. So angry about Lexa’s foolish move, about your own stupidity. You’d accomplish nothing if you don't put your shits together. When Costia feels your shudder is dissipating she’s about to leave for the promised tea.

“Why are you helping us? Her? Why others do? Don’t you hate Americans?”

“I am a crazy woman too, besides you’re only half-American.” She smirks but you’d really like to know the truth, and she can sense it.

“The Kurds never have been free, but there was at least something we had under control. When the war erupted, I was 13. I don’t remember many happy endings, and I doubt any await for us in the future. Nadia wanted to believe in bright and shiny tomorrows, and she’s dead now. So many others too.  I never wanted to fight, I just wanted to live. To study in college, to be loved, to take care of nice little garden with grapes perhaps. Not much I guess. But I will never have that. I’ll die a horrible death, decapitated and probably end in the nameless grave because this war is never going to end. The amount of oil this soil keeps is still so much larger than blood it has soaked. So before it happens, before my own blood is spilt I’ll take as many ISIS with me as possible, and I’ll see at least one happy ending. I have to. I deserve it.”

Her voice falters, and she’s blinking the tears.

“Yours! Understand?!”

You nod and gulp.

“So stay here till I bring you some tea. And when we reunite with Heda, let her explain herself and respect every decision she made. I doubted you, but now I believe you still love her too.”

You nod again and let her leave. It’s time to make another promise.  This girl is not going to die. Not on your watch. You plan to tell her immediately when her hand lays on your shoulder. But when you turn, there is no Kurdish warrior behind you.

“Dr. Griffin. May you come with us?” Says one of the two men and reveals the Rebel’s badge under his jacket. “Someone would like to talk to you.”

Costia’s taking down one of their _friends_ and disappearing in the side alley is the last thing you spot before they drag you away.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you knew it's her ;-)
> 
> Anyway, if you'd like to know how Clarke and Lexa met and have some time to spare here's the story:
> 
> **[Right here :)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9910043/chapters/22206764) **
> 
> If you'd like to know why they broke up and if they ever get back together, well you have to wait for that a bit.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Octavia's POV  
> Flashback and bit of detour.

**Wednesday, February 3, 2016**

**5:11 am., Northeastern Syria, Danto-yn, 55 kilometres in beeline distance to Rojava territory**

_“LTJG Blake, you are leaving the International airspace, turn back immediately. I repeat, turn back immediately.”_

_The aircraft carrier USS John C. Stennis, your mothership, is desperately trying to reach you for a couple of minutes but without success. The commanding centre of American navy in the Eastern Mediterranean sea senses upcoming catastrophe because you did not respond to any of their calls and you don’t plan to. There is nothing wrong with your scout F/A-18 Hornet, every system is perfectly functional except you. This was your intention all the way, to invade Syrian airspace and be shot down. When you joined the army after high school four years ago, you knew you are going to do everything in your power to achieve this, but the odds of success were almost impossible. You understood that, yet here you are. You fooled everyone and become an obedient part of insane machinery you actually don’t give a shit about. Your primary goal always was to humiliate republican senator Blake, your so-called father, eagerly participating on 2016 presidential race. And that’s precisely what’s going to happen. ‘Incompetent’ pilot enters the territory of a sovereign state without any reasonable purpose and is going to be shot down causing the international scandal. Senator Blake will never become Republican presidential candidate with such a stain on his shirt._

_“LTJG Blake, you have to…”_

_You turn off the radio and wonder how long till someone’s anti-aircraft warfare system hits you. Asad’s, ISIS, Rebel’s. There are plenty of options. You just hope it will be long enough till your hornet manage to create the trajectory corresponding with the obscene image, your last message for a religious zealot, Senator Blake. You have to chuckle. It’s the much better way how to rebel against dickhead daddy than being overdosed on some shitty party. It doesn’t take long and frantic beeping on your dashboard gives you the answer. The missile has been shot. For this time you won’t be the coward and let it all end. Your hand will not reach for the ejection button. You feel the explosion burning your body and scream in tremendous pain._

“It’s ok. You’re ok. It was just a dream.”

Barely audible silent whisper and familiar broken English bring you back to reality.

You live. Sitting on the floor of the dark room, breathing heavily, feeling soaked tank top and sweatpants sticking to your shivering body. You were a coward after all. Your own hand betrayed you and hit the ejection button in time.  It seems like your hand is not the only traitor around. The other one belongs to smug young Kurd, the biggest pain in the ass. This time, she doesn’t sound superior, though. _Well, fuck her._ As if this whole situation when you live wasn’t fucked up enough even without her mixed signals and appearing and disappearing affinity towards you.

“Hey, is everything alright?”

Great. Sleepy doctor laying on the other side of the room must hear you pathetic outburst and is evaluating if she should check on you or stay in the warm refuge of her bedroll. You know the Hippocratic oath inside her will win eventually if you aren't quick enough.

“Everything’s fine. I just had this dream where I was sunbathing in Florida, and then I realise none of you is there so I couldn’t help myself and scream in happiness.”

“Asshole.”

Says Costia, who cowardly backed off after heard doctor’s voice, so her hand does not lay on your back anymore.

“Are you sure?”

Costia steps up and heads to the door, AK 47 dangling over her shoulder.

“You can cool down doc and go back to sleep. I don’t suppose you can cure the assholeness.”

She leaves the room, and it seems doctor Griffin listened because she lays back and falls asleep almost immediately. You slide down too and ponder if you should tell her. But what she could do, three more hours left till your next dose of antibiotics and the mysterious serum that makes you feel like a Wonder woman the other day is only in possession of even more mysterious Heda. You seek some warmness and nestle deeper into the bedroll, but the wet clothes won’t help to banish the chill. You tremble and think about getting rid of them, but it would require some physical effort, and you feel too weak for that. Damn. You curl still shivering and hoping that maybe you’ll fall into unconsciousness or die perhaps if you’re lucky. None of it happens though. After the moment you sense Costia kneeling down, untangling you from the bedroll. You’re freezing and shaking like an earthquake. She takes off your drenched tank top and puts some blanket she brought around you.

“Drink this. It’s tea. Herbal.” You are not able to hold the steaming mug, drinking from it seems like science fiction.

“It should make you feel better. Tea always makes you feel better. Said Grandma and you should never doubt grandma.” She mumbles in a low voice, barely audible.

One of her hands is helping you with the drinking challenge, the other lays firmly on your shoulders making sure your shivering body will not drop the blanket. After coop effort, you are able to sip some hot liquid and rest your head on her chest. She’s tightening the embrace and keeps whispering about how grandma knew all herbs, but you can’t hear much. Tea’s not bad, though. You are not sure if it’s helping because the coldness refuses to retreat. After you finished, Costia put away the empty mug and takes off the AK 47 for the first time ever and also her white shirt.

“Come here, press your body against mine.”

“What?”

“My body heat should warm you. Or I could wake up the doc if you prefer her annoying interference.”

“Go ahead, if you prefer her body heat warming me instead of yours.”

“Jerk.”

You see her head shaking dismissively in the dusk of the dark room and feel your body doing as she suggested.

“Or maybe you just prefer someone else in your arms.”

You don’t even know why said that. You are not jealous of a dead girlfriend or masked commander or anyone else because why you should be. You don’t give a shit about Costia, and that stupid kiss did not throw you off balance. Not at all. You still believe that. Or you still want to believe that you believe that.

“If you could just stop acting like an imbecile for a single moment.”

She brings you closer and being pressed against her bared body brings the whole new range of shiver, but you do feel warmer, no doubt.

“If you could just use my name for once when talking with me, instead of calling me names. It’s Octavia, by the way.”

“I’ll consider it Emrîkî if you shut up and try to rest.”

She’s at least four inches taller, and that beautifully toned body of hers got real muscles you can tell. Actually, you can sense it everywhere your sensitive skin touches hers. You convince yourself that being in her strong arms is the best place to regenerate. It should be added, it didn’t take much effort because of the way she holds you. It makes you feel safe and cherished. That’s why you have no trouble to fall for the dreamless slumber.

When you wake up the chill is gone. At least the physical feeling of coldness. But Costia’s gone too, and that intense feeling of intimacy disappeared with her. It bothers you more than should. The darkness is replaced by the rays of light seeking the way to the room through the small cellar windows. You sit up checking your torso, not so bare anymore. The white t-shirt you don’t remember dressing up smells like young Kurd. Well, everything scents like her.

“Fucking great.”

You intend to say it only in your head but fail because the doctor turns her attention towards you.

“You’re awake. And holding a positive attitude as always. Happy to see that.”

You grunt but don’t say a word. She packs a little briefcase and tucks it under her bedroll.

“I will bring my stuff, check on you and change your bandages. In the meantime take this.”

She gives you two purple pills and a glass of water and leaves. You take them and move yourself to the bathroom trying to ignore the rush in the kitchen. Mostly, trying to not look there and seek for Costia. You are successful. When back in the bedroom doc already waits for you.

“Did you have a fever at night?” She starts a little chit chat when treating you.

“Nah. I told you I felt great. I always do feel so great I could burst.”

“You’re the real charmer LTJG Blake, you know.”

“Hell, I do.”

“The wounds are good considering the circumstances.” She gives you some black garment and a light smile when finished with the bandage thing. She acts so much more human than back then in Pike’s compound.

“Here. Dress up and go eat something or the antibiotics won’t kick.”

You should be grateful she saved your life and is not a bitch you thought she was. Actually, she’s some kind of a freaking hero or something. She came up with the plan to free you and Indra and sent that bastard to hell.  But the ultimate result only frustrates you more. Because as much as your coward ass is not ready to die, yet, you have no idea where the fuck you will go from here. You leave the room and go to the kitchen that was full of people not long ago but now is empty of course. The only occupant is smug Kurd sitting at the table playing patience. Her eyes are fixed on cards and don’t pay any attention to you.

She has this schizophrenic habit of mocking you, ignoring you or caring for you. _Ignore mode_ is on now, apparently. You sit down on your usual spot and take some cheese and olives from the single plate prepared for you.

“Thanks for breakfast.”

It takes a lot of effort to be nice when you are pissed at her. Just by default not because she left you alone this morning. She could be a valuable ally in the end, so you have to try at least because you need any alliance right now, when still not quite sure how Indra feels about you. Besides Costia may have a soft spot for you somehow, when she is not in the _mocking_ or _ignoring mode._ Yeah, that’s why you’re doing this, trying to be closer because you need to use her. You felt nothing when she kissed you, and you felt nothing when she warmed your body with her own heat, and you feel nothing right now.

“I didn’t make it. Aden did.”

She spats and packs the cards. Patience is over. She doesn’t leave the kitchen though, only your line of sight. Whatever she’s doing you decide to ignore it too and focus on your plate. If the empty stomach didn’t make you sick after antibiotics, you wouldn’t force yourself to eat. The hunger is not something you feel right now. Well, at least not the one food can satisfy.

“Drink it.”

She puts the steaming mug in front of you and sits back across the table right against you. She made you tea, again. Grandma’s tea. You shiver. You are definitely not used to such kind of attention. When people do something for you, it’s because they are paid for that or because they want to use you for their own advantage somehow. Costia, though… Your presence endangers her and her companions, and it can’t be more evident that you mostly annoy her to no end. You are no use for her, quite the opposite but still, she tries her best to treat you like equal although your people betrayed hers, and you’re plotting to misguide her, which she had to figure out already.

One of your hands comes up, and you are about to reach for hers, but you let it drop to the table realising it’s incredibly stupid move because

A) she already knows you’re faking the affection for your own selfish reasons

B) fake became real somewhere trough the way, and you really do crave to touch her

Holly fuck. You can’t be near Costia for another second nor you will. It must be written all over your face, the endless frustration from this whole mess. You’re about to stand up and go back to the bedroom.

She watches you closely the whole time and finishes what you started, eventually. That means you’re not going anywhere, your hand is in hers, and the low moan you released when she touched you makes you blush.

She smiles softly, and there is only a little smugness in her expression. The cuteness definitely overloads. Thanks to her bold move you surrender and relish her closeness without feeling sorry about it, without having any side intentions and suddenly you are anywhere but in the middle of the fucking civil war.

It could easily be the first date you never had.  Very much aware of what you are doing you lift her hand slowly and leave a couple of kisses across the knuckles. There is a healing wound in there. She must hit someone not longer than a week ago. When putting it back on the table, intertwining your fingers in the process, you admit to yourself you wanted to kiss that spot for quite a time.

She accepts the terms and pace you settled and let her fingers to be involved in slow, gentle caressing play. Or foreplay, perhaps. You look up and examine her face thoroughly. Her eyes make you think she is the saddest person you’ve ever met. And the most beautiful one.  But she’s smiling now, there is a spark of joy there. _Are you really the source of it, or the image of someone else sitting here with her right now?_ That thought will not spoil how nice all this feel. You won’t allow that.

She’s about to say something, but you intervene and puts your thumb on her lips, strokes it tenderly and cup her face. Your move takes her aback, not in the wrong way you suspect and it encourages you even more. Your first kiss was like a summer storm. Unexpected, intense and gone in no time but even despite the clear sky there are always consequences. Broken branches, flooded cellars or a dry land finally moisturised. But to flourish again, the dry land needs more than a quick thunderstorm. She was caught in the moment that first time, and you panicked for the minute, but it’s different now. You lean over the table, and she stares at your lips biting hers. Her brain is not in daze anymore, you need to believe. She’s here with you, not in Kobanî. You gulp and part your lips when someone rushes into the room.

“Where are you going? Your wounds need to be treated.”

The spell is broken, Costia backs off immediately, and you feel like a total idiot. _What the fuck you were thinking? That she’s different than the others? That she cares about you? Well, she does not. She is as much fucking phoney as anyone else, drooling over her masked commander._ You’re an embarrassing secret for her. A stupid distraction. When she steps up you clench your fists in desperate attempt to stop the hands from trembling. The storm that has come now is the raging shitstorm of emotion inside you. You don’t understand much of the conversation but what’s clear to you that Costia just sacrificed you for some crazy suicide mission. She can fuck off. She doesn’t even look at you. No one does. That’s why you’re able to steal the knife from the cupboard and already plotting your escape from this crazy group. So what if you are in the middle of the ISIS territory. The truce that has just been offered is lost on you. You dismiss Costia’s act of solace and grabs the scarf she’s giving you in haste. After you slam the doors behind you, the anger reaches the boiling point.

Fuck that monster Charles Pike who dragged you to his compound when ISIS shot you down. He and his man were lurking in the shadows like the stinking lowlifes waiting for their chance to capture you. And that damned doctor if she managed only average skills and wasn't able to save your life that would be great. But absolutely worst is that freaking traitor who happens to be your mother. If she did not have a petty affair, you’d never born. Nevertheless you are here, and for now, you are going to fight. You are going to do whatever it takes to make it through. Because you are a survivor. You are a fighter. You were Pike´s prisoner for some time, then you were obviously a burden to your unwilling rescuers, but now something changed. You have a weapon. The knife you stole from the kitchen. Such equipment is nothing more than sticks and stones against panzer. But fed with the rage, your mind is clouded, and you can’t think straight. So of course, you think it’s other way round. You feel strong, armed and driven.

“Here, take this.”

And it looks like your weaponry is going to be upgraded even. You stare at batwoman wannabe or whatever she is trying to achieve with endless head covers and cannot believe she is offering you a gun.

“Do you really think that rusty knife you took from the kitchen is better than a handgun when we randomly encounter some brainless ISIS thugs?”

Is this a test? Sometimes you wonder if she is a real human being or some kind of robot. Doesn't matter. Her offer is too tempting to refuse, so you take the gun.

“Good. I feel much better without it. Killing is not my speciality.”  

She turns and heads to the woodwork exit. How can she be so reckless? Instinctively, you draw the gun and aim for her head. You’re becoming unhinged.

“What do you think you are going to accomplish with that stunt?”

Oh, how much you hate her and her calm voice. Miss knows it all. She should let Indra shoot you in the wilderness. Why the hell she didn’t? Now you fucking owe her. You think you cannot hate her more.

“Do you really think you can get in contact with Bellamy on your own?”  

Oh but you do right now.  She doesn't even bother to turn her ugly covered face towards you. _How she dares to mention your brother? Is this why she kept you alive? Do they want to trade you? Does she know your brother is CIA? Your not so biological but still official father a senator? Does Costia know and approves?_

“Who the fuck are you? Who sent you? What is your agenda? United States government never negotiate with terrorist. You were royally stupid if you thought you can gain something from me.”

This anger has been boiling inside you since you were thirteen and it commands you to pull the trigger.

“No one sent me. Honestly, I can’t care less about United States government. And they didn't care about your life that much anymore because everyone thought you are dead for more than two weeks. I will tell you more, but first, we need some mandrake. So would you kindly put that gun down and follow me.”

 _What the hell she means by mandrake? How can she be so calm?_ Whatever, she’s lucky for now because you decided to wait for answers and put the gun down.

“And next time soldier, be more vigilant.”

She finally turns back to you, magazine in her hand. Fuck. You are losing your shits. How could you not notice that gun is not loaded.

“Gustus has not overreacted. Everyone in this God forsaken country would come with their more or less sick plan how to use you for their own advantage. Rusty knife and the boundless rage definitely won't be enough if you want to make it through. Or unloaded gun for that matter.”

She throws you the magazine and heads out of the woodwork. You fucking hate her because she is so fucking right and because the way Costia looked at her in the basement moments ago. You load the pistol, put it in under your clothes and follow, anyway.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, original drafts of the story contained only minor Costia/Octavia interaction, but I became fond of them and couldn’t stop myself from going deeper.  
> I did not describe Costia’s look on purpose. Through years we all created our own version and who am I to meddle with your image of how she looks.  
> But if you by any chance want to know more about Senator Blake, I had DICK Santorum, I mean Rick Santorum, one of the most prominent Republican asshole on my mind when I was creating the character. ;-)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Octavia's POV part 2

**Wednesday, February 3, 2016**

**9:39 am., Northeastern Syria, Danto-yn,**

You feel ridiculous in this weird outfit, not to mention omniscient commander keeps pestering you about the way you walk when she leads you through the streets of the city of Danto-yn. It’s not submissive enough for her. She can fuck off with submissive, you want to say but won’t. Because she’s right. Independent woman walking with self-confidence may be appreciated in some parts of the world, like Women’s protection unit basecamp but disturbing in others, like the city with the possible presence of ISIS zealots or supporters and Senator Blake household for example. As much as beloved senator hates the radical Muslim religion, his own fanatic Christian views are not much different. What a hypocritical asshole. Oh how much he suffered when you joined the army, not the housewife role. When his PR staff told him supporting your decision will make him look better, he could have a heart attack.

For better or worse you adjust your walk and let the level of tranquillity of this place help to banish gloomy thoughts, even if it may be a false consolation. Still, you didn’t see anything like this for weeks. The streets that are not under heavy fire, sunlight without smoke. You are passing women and men heading towards marketplace or to work perhaps chatting in a low voice. You notice kids playing football on the other side of the street screaming in happiness. You catch a couple of historical buildings with signs of holes after the gunshot or a slightly ruined pillar in a colonnade, but it's nothing like Deir Ez-Zur or Madan. Comparing to Aleppo and Raqqa this place is almost a paradise.  You even pass by working fountain. All women have their hair covered, but only a few also faces like you and batwoman wannabe. If it wasn't for her idiotic remarks and babbling something about how Mandrake looks and where it grows you may even fall for an illusion you are not in the middle of a war but on some exotic vacation. The point of her speech is lost on you. Frankly, you don't pay attention and she probably finally get that because she shuts up. So you are walking in silence, and you realise it’s not as welcomed as you expected. Because when you don’t need to be focused on ignoring her rambling, your mind has the freedom to wander wherever it wants. From all possible options, it must be the day when you fell from the bike as a kid. It was some campaign shooting showing senator Blake and his perfect family. Technically, you weren’t supposed to ride the bike just hold the doll and look obedient. But your brother always found a way how to escape  _ obedient  _ and  _ kindly borrowed _ his. Which made you over-excited and riding too fast and too reckless which resulted in breaking a leg. It was an open fracture. You were brought to the hospital and needed a blood transfusion. Senator Blake was grumpy because you ruined the shooting but PR team suggested he could offer own blood for transfusion. Great image of great father faded away when it was revealed you are B negative. The rare one. It was also revealed according to his own blood type there was no way he was your biological father. Of course, you found out about this revelation long time after. He was in the middle of the campaign, and such dirt as infidelity of his wife could ruin his chances. It was swept under the rug. He never was the father of the year, but from that day you barely existed for him.  Lost in thoughts, you don't notice your surroundings are changing. The part of the city you are in now is less crowded and dustier. Burnt trees and wrecked cars everywhere. It definitely saw some serious fight. Masked Xena starts with the mandrake bullshit again, and you can't care less till she stops not far from the police station building and make known she plans to break into the inner garden. More specifically she wants you to do that. You want to hit her when she explains a detailed proposal of achieving mandrakes. Two guards standing in front of the main door can't see you because you stand behind burnt bus wreck.

“Are you nuts? And what makes you think I would even consider doing something like that.”

“Because we need mandrake.”

“No shit.”

“Their midday prayer starts in no time.” She looks at the sun and at her watch.” There should be 3 oaks on the far end of the inner garden. The condition in there is close to perfect for mandrake. I am positive you find some. Take as much as you can. We need roots and also flowers.”

“W-we? No, way.”

“If we are lucky you have five minutes. If not you have three. If you’re late or they are back early I still can distract them but not if you appear out of nowhere. So check the street before you climb back.”

She peaks towards the local militia guys.

“Go.”

She nudges you when they are finally inside. You are not sure how you got under her spell and why you’re following her orders, but suddenly you are climbing the wall of the inner garden. Thanks to your training you have an exceptional sense of time and space. On the other hand, you are aware of mandrake existence only thanks to J.K. Rowling and Harry Potter. You are sure the mandrake you are about to harvest looks completely different. When your feet touch the ground, the soldier mode is fully on again. An excitement, adrenaline, greed. You know you can do this. You can beat the odds. You worked so hard to be the best. And you are. Still, Senator Blake doesn't give a shit about you. Fuck him. No one would retrieve that mandrake in less than five minutes with two not properly healed gunshot wounds but you will. You scan the area, count the militia members inside the building you can see through the windows and evaluate their possible behaviour. All of them are kneeling down for the prayer. You spot the oaks and crawl towards them. Your fingers are frantically buried in the ground, hoping that the defiant root you are about to gain is the mandrake. You are counting, projecting scenarios and undoubtedly stripping your fingers to the bones but then the hideous plant is all in your possession. And then another one. You tuck them under your clothes and sneak towards the wall. If not for the black clothes you would be busted. You try to get rid of the soil as much as possible to tidy and adjust your outfit, but you can get rid of the blood on your hands. You climb on the wall and see the street is still empty. Quick jump brings you back to your unwanted companion. Your ability to speak is somehow suppressed, so you only nod.

“Splendid. Let’s go. Act normal. Calm down.”

She speaks in soothing voice and leads you away. The adrenaline rush is fading, on the contrary, your mangled hands sense the rise of pain. You end on the roof of the abandoned building and follow her when she sits down under a makeshift canopy. The view of the city is magnificent. You wonder if she knew about this place or you were just lucky. She reaches under her clothes a pulls out like zillion things. The bottle of water, to begin with, a first aid kit to end with.

“Fuck this head covering bulshit.”

She swears, and you don't understand why she wears them then when she hates it so much. When she gets rid of her headgear, you can see she has pocketed armour vest under her outfit. The doctor would not be happy to see her burdening injured back. And you also realise something else. You thought that she must be super ugly or her face scarred or Harvey Dent style burnt with that headgear obsession, but it's quite the opposite. You cannot deny she is indeed beautiful. Lack of scars or her attractiveness is not what hits you, though. Her face is oddly familiar.  You are overwhelmed when it clicks.

“I know you.”

“I bet you do. You saw me on TV blabbering about how whenever I want to grow out my hair, strands always break off but now, the new Pro-V formula makes them almost unbreakable. Well, I can assure you that person is not present.”

“No, fuck no. What the hell you’re talking about? You are the girl from the pic. Bit older but it's you.”

The doctor was cold and numb for most of the time you spent as Pike’s prisoner, but she was all melting and reckless when she was staring at the photo she always bears in the pocket next to her heart.

“The pic?”

“Doctor Griffin has a photograph she keeps. Before I realised she was plotting to help me escape I thought her soul is locked in it or something. Because she only seemed human when she was looking at that pic.”

Your unmasked companion becomes miraculously muted because she only opens and closes her mouth for a couple of times without making any sound. After she finally resigned further efforts, she grabs the med kit and treats your wounded hands. A part of you wants to squish her, beat the crap out of her till she will give you answers about Bellamy, about her allegiance about that stupid mandrake, the other part though… With uncovered face, she looks so vulnerable. Everything you thought about her is crumbling. How was she able to stop the grenade? To bear you through the wilderness? To take down a dozen of armed ISIS mercenaries? You are looking at her, and the only thing you see is exhausted, young woman. Barely older than yourself. Soft and gentle. When the harsh cocky voice is not present, you can’t catch any sign of an unbreakable warrior.

“Who are you? Why are you here?”

She promised you answers, but for now, only more questions were uncovered. You are eager to ask them all, but to your own amazement first, you want to settle this.

“I am just a woman in love.”

She looks at you, through you and again it doesn't seem real. Not her words though. It's the most genuine thing you’ve ever heard. The whole situation is what you consider absolutely unbelievable. You’ve never been in love but looking to her deep dark green eyes almost makes you understand how does it feel. Surprisingly the glimpse of AK 47 owner pops up in your head. You shake it off, though and wait for more.  _ The woman in love _ is eager to speak.

“Twelve weeks ago I found out my ex-girlfriend is leaving for Syria to join Independent medical front.” You hold your breath.

“I was too late to stop her. Or you could say beyond the reach, perhaps. 7000 kilometres beyond the reach.  She did not answer my calls, shut down her phone. I was pissed, but I understood. She hated me. Then I hated her. Still, I couldn't let go. When she got MIA, I already had a plan. Plans.”

You shiver. It’s her piercing eyes or a subjugating tone of her voice, you wonder.

“I've become unhinged. Without resources and outstanding brain capacity maybe I would just get involved with some hookers and drugs and forget eventually. Or maybe not.”

She finishes your bandaging, and you realise it’s poor compared to doctor Griffin skills.

“I know it’s not perfect. I always stared at her breasts, when she was trying to teach me how to do this.”

That was the information you definitely did not need.

“I’ve considered every possible outcome, every possible alliance and opportunity, how to find her and bring her back. Mandrake?”

How can she have such a power over you? You still have not figured it out when you are handing her the roots and flowers you recovered.

“You were a dead end by the way. Literally.” Weirdly, you consider it as a good thing that the whole America thinks you’re dead.

“Oh, keep the flowers, they are for you lieutenant.” She arranges the flowers in the small bouquet and hands it back to you.

“If you made me risk my life only to retrieve this weed I swear…” The simple bunch is actually cute but such silliness in the middle of the war is madness. The madness you will not tolerate any longer.

“Easy soldier. I told you boundless anger will not help you achieve anything. The mandrake root is essential for our future plans. And flowers… every woman love flowers. Even you I bet.” Of course, you do. When you think about it, no one ever gave you flowers.

“I thought maybe it will cheer you a bit. But if you don't like them or it bothers you it’s not from Costia we can throw them away.”  She is about to pull her hand back, and suddenly you yearn to have them, but...

“It’s lovely. I guess. But shouldn't you be giving gifts to Dr. Griffin instead of me? She is your love, isn’t she? Your lost girlfriend.” ...but if your assumption is right, why all that covering and hiding face, you are confused.

“She must not know ´tis me.”

“What? Are you crazy?”

She admitted to you she travelled 7000k just to find her love in the country at war. It doesn't make sense to not acknowledge Dr. Griffin she has done so.

“Probably. But I couldn't tell her when we reunited. She hates me. I was afraid her stubbornness could get the best of her, and she refuses to go with me. And the more I wait, the less I know how to handle this.” She seems even more tired to you when she buries her head in hands.

“The love makes you stupid, you know. Royally naive.”

“What do you mean?”

“One woman can’t win the fight against the human nature. I could have died so many times. So could they. Now I know that without meth in my system. But still, she's almost saved.” Did she really say meth or you just overheard?

“I need your help.” That is definitely the last thing you expected to hear from her.

“And you are going to help because you are definitely not the person who wants to be in depth to someone else. I saved your life, so did Clarke.”

She doesn't even look at you when she is saying those words. Instead, she’s peeling the mandrake root. Your anger is boiling again. You are so close to exploding, to sticking the knife to her neck. But you remember her words and know everything she says is true. She even prepared you for this when she said everyone in this God forsaken country would come with their more or less sick plan how to use you for their own advantage. You know you are going to help her and hope her plan is rather less sick than more.

“Speak then. What do you want.”

So she speaks. A lot. And your head is spinning. It’s not a simple task for you to embrace the whole picture. The reason why she needs your help is that she believes she’s going to die therefore she is not going to make it to the borders. You are supposed to finish her task. To bring Dr. Griffin to safety. You ask why she shouldn't make it or why her other friends cannot help. She explains her injuries are severe and her meth addiction is out of control, especially without any meth left. When you think about it, everything finally made sense. How she became a super soldier. Why you felt so great after the strange substance was injected into your veins in the wilderness. She admits using methamphetamine as a stimulant was one of the most difficult decisions through the rescue mission but the only way how to stay awake, vigilant and how to use her body and mind potential to full capacity. You are not sure if you admire her or pity her. She knew she will become addicted, it could kill her. Nevertheless, she staked everything to find a woman she loves. She warns you that Gustus cannot be trusted because his allegiance is only to her and once she's gone Clarke’s rescue will not matter to him. As you expected Kurds aren’t eager to meddle with affairs that don’t concern them. She says they have their own agenda and even when we are all working together now it's only an act of necessity. So when back in Rojava territory Clarke’s fate will be Indra’s lowest priority.

“Costia is the only one who’s fully devoted to this task, and you can trust her, but there is only a little she can do with the low rank in YPJ hierarchy. Besides she broke the chain of command when she joined my mission to rescue Clarke and Indra. It will not go unnoticed even when Indra return unharmed.”

She sighs, and you stare at her in awe. How the hell she accomplished all this? She gained Kurds trust, partial but still. She convinced the man named Gustus to protect her, and she has Costia’s unconditional loyalty. Well, why you even surprised. Even you did precisely what she wanted. She really thought this through to the slightest detail. Although she missed one essential issue.

“So if I fail, if all fails you have to make contact with Bellamy and bring Clarke to the safety of NATO base in Turkey.” She gives you the satellite phone, and you gulp. “It’s your way out, too. He’ll do anything to help you.”

“What if I don’t want a way out.”

You say it loud slowly for the first time, and to your surprise, she’s not surprised at all.

“You’ll find one for Clarke. If it weren’t for her, you’d be ISIS slave now thanks to your poor decisions.”

Suddenly, soft and gentle is nowhere to be found. It’s ruthless commander again who glances at you and sips from the bottle with just prepared mandrake cocktail. You get chills down your spine and maybe starting to understand how did she went so far.

“Look,” her face softens a bit after all, “what future holds it’s only up to you.  You can go back to your American fellas or brood about how fucking unfair your life is in the middle of the desert or join Kurds, perhaps. They can use every help they get. But first, you need to get Clarke to safety. Not to mention your brother suffers.  Don’t you think he deserves to know, you live?”

You know what’s she’s doing. She’s trying to manipulate you.  __ Well, trying is a mild understatement. You’ve been with her for two hours, and till now she was able to wake every single emotion you could hold. You are close to making the decision.  And of course, she is able to you read you so well and knows before you say anything.

“Good. I trust you with this because Costia trusts you. She wouldn’t suggest you go with me if she didn’t.”

She packs her things and lays back still sipping the mandrake water every now and then and leaves you to contemplate. You do have a lot to think about. You look at the little bouquet in your patched fingers and put it under your garment. It’s not the perfect place to stash it but, you don’t have any other viable option. You chuckle a bit. You would never have guessed this story you’ve become a part of is a love story. It’s not about the _good fight_ or the only _righteous god_ or freaking oil. It’s about love. Something you know very little about.

_ Costia trusts you. She wouldn’t suggest you go with me if she didn’t.  _ Heda’s words resonate in your head, and you have this strange but comforting feeling of shiver in your stomach. Yeah that one, you should already experience a long time ago considering your age but never did. Until now. You lay down next to your unmasked companion and let yourself indulge in this newly found emotional state.

“Come, we should go. We already have what we came for.”

Says she, eventually and pulls you back to reality from much more pleasant fantasy where your head is not laying on the stone floor but Costia’s lap.

“What’s the thing with the mandrake, anyway?”

Looking at her now, she seems lively without any traits of exhaustion. She explains that Costia’s stories about her Grandma miraculous knowledge of herbs and dad’s service as a police officer gave her an idea where mandrake could be and how it can help her to overcome withdrawal symptoms. You don’t even need to asks about why mandrake isn’t used as general withdrawal symptoms suppressor if it works so great. She explains there are lots of side effects, and some could kill her, so it’s only a temporary patch.  _ Crap.  _ You guess, she wasn’t joking with that death thing. Before you leave the abandoned building, there is one last issue you want to settle. She practically gave you the permission when she made you part of her  _ mission. _

“You should tell her. You have to tell her.”

“No. Not going to happen.”

“Why-”

“I told you, she must not know ‘tis me. If what you said about the pic is true, if she still cares about me her stubbornness will get better of her, and she will not see the reason. She’ll endanger herself in vain attempt to save us both, and I can’t allow that. I won’t.”

“But-”

“I’ve interfered with so many things, so many lives to bring her back that I set up insane scenarios in motion, maybe the tornado on the other side of the world. But I chose Clarke as my number one priority. Therefore, nothing else matters for me. No other life, no other occurrence. It has to stay that way.”

You want to say more, but a dismissive wave of the hand is a clear sign this topic is closed. She covers her head and exits the building. On your way back no one talks. She’s probably going through her plans how to keep her love safe. She must consider so many issues and outcomes before she came to Syria in such a short time. Most people you know would talk shits about their exes at best, using every opportunity to show they better than them at worst not sacrificing everything to fix their stupid decisions. It had to be tremendous effort to launch this journey with the little time she had. You have experiences of your own with planning missions impossible, but it took you years, some luck involved and you screwed up in the end anyway and hit the ejection button. The other thing is she was driven by love and devotion which seems pretty much selfless when your fuel was rage against the senator Blake which is pretty much pathetic. But it’s about change, you’re positive. Positive is exactly how you feel right now. When you left the woodwork basement in the morning, you were beyond mad, and now it’s all gone. The super soldier, batwoman wannabe, Xena double thinks she may not make it, but you won’t allow that. She gave you the task to keep Dr. Griffin safe, but you’ll outperform it. You are going to make sure this unusual love story will have a happy ending and maybe experience some love on the way too. You smile and can’t wait to see Costia again. As Heda said, she is your closest sidekick according to this task. The tingling in your stomach is back. You turn to the side alley coming closer to your destination when someone intercepts you in a rush. You grab for the gun instinctively before you realise it’s not a treat.

“They took her, Heda. They took Clarke.”

Well, shit. This is not what supposed to happen.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mandrake thing is purely fictional, in fact, it doesn’t have any of mentioned effects, nor it grows where I indicated. Don’t try it though if encounter, it could cause hallucination.
> 
> Maybe you already figured it out by yourself, maybe you don’t want to bother with figuring it out and still like to know, so I just tell you their age right away.  
> Clarke is 26, Lexa is 24 (almost, her birthday is in May, it’s mentioned in another story of mine, True Defender) Octavia is 22, Costia is 19 and to be honest I never really thought much about the others, and I doubt you did.


End file.
